Souvenir
by MarySuOfYay
Summary: TFA: Shockwave always intended to take Blurr with him, but a mistake is made. However, it works out in Shockwave's favor. Non-con with giant robots. Shockwave, Blurr, Cliffjumper.
1. Chapter 1

Author Notes: This entire concept started as the run-of-the-mill 'Shockwave takes Blurr' idea. I felt like jumping on the bandwagon. My subconscious, however, began to show me bits of pieces that involved more than just Blurr as I slept. My brain does that.

Yay, crack concept!

Anyway, then I met BBPuyo of Deviantart. And we talked a lot. And it became this little crazy thing that it is now. And then I figured, 'what the heck'.

So.. Here's the start of this crazy ride which may or may not get more insane as time goes on. There's going to be clear influences from other fics, so if you see something vaguely familiar, just assume it was inspired by elsewhere.

This is technically AU, so.. I'm going to be messing with certain details. Just a warning.

WARNING: Will eventually have non-con in a giant space robot sort of way. For now, there's just light molestation. Yay!

---------------------------------------------

_Living life inside a dream_

_Time is changing everything_

_Forgetting all the memories_

_And I'm forced in to you_

_Just 'cause you're in to me_

_You've never been so used as I'm using you_

_Abusing you, my little decoy_

_Don't look so blue_

_You should have seen right through_

_I'm using you, my little decoy_

_My little decoy_

-- "Decoy", Paramore

---------------------------------------------

**Souvenir: Chapter One**

Whatever had happened, Cliffjumper decided, he probably wasn't going to like it. After all, he could count on one servo the amount of times he had woken up from a forced unconsciousness, and the previous two times had been from rather stupid stunts of his own design.

It didn't help one bit that he couldn't actually recall why he was unconscious in the first place. Why he was so exhausted was a mystery as well; one would think waking up would bring more energy, not less.

As the dancing flashes of spots before his optics began to fade and a quick diagnostic run revealed no real damage beyond a dent on the back of his helm, one answer revealed itself in the form of stasis cuffs. From what he could feel and see, he was on the floor and on his side, staring directly at the metal braces around his wrists.

Well, that at least explained that much, but, oh, how he hated stasis cuffs. Energy-sapping things that he had worn quite a few times in his trouble-causing youth, but none of those had been quite as strong as these. Military-grade cuffs, perhaps; he could barely move for the lack of strength it allowed him.

The larger questions continued to remain: Where was he, why was he wearing stasis-cuffs, and was high-grade possibly involved?

Cliffjumper had to force himself to move, arguing with his own frame to tilt his head up enough to perhaps get a glimpse of where he was. For the moment, he was far too confused and annoyed to be worried.

Still, he shuttered his optics several times to be certain what he was seeing was actually there; the almost impossibly still frame of another bot lay within arm's reach. Well, if he had been able to move his arms, that is.

It took his drained processor a moment to recall who the other mech was; Field Agent Blurr, if he was recalling correctly. An Agent under his superior's command. He had never spoken with the younger bot for more than a few cycles at a time, but he had a feeling the Agent shouldn't have been as still as he was.

His superior; Longarm Prime. Something at the back of his processor tingled uncomfortably, as if he had forgotten something very, very important.

After a moment, he noticed all three sets of stasis cuffs on the other frame; two on his wrists and the third at his pedes. Yet, Blurr's optics somehow remained online -- although dimmed -- and staring right at him; a small miracle in itself with all those cuffs on him.

The red minibot was thoroughly shocked to see Blurr's mouth slowly opening and closing; he was clearly trying to speak but the cuffs robbed him of the energy to do so. After a short cycle, the cerulean mech gave up; instead, the Autobot Elite Guard insignia on his chassis began to flash on and off.

Autobot visual code. It flashed quicker than Cliffjumper had ever seen before, but it wasn't impossible to read.

_How did you get in this mess?_ There was no code for punctuation, but assumptions were made.

It was a very good question; Cliffjumper had to strain to recall. Despite the strong, continuous sap of energy, he found he was able to speak. He couldn't get his voice synthesizer to go above a whisper, but it was better than nothing. "Something.. About a comm..?"

Recollection hit like a brick to the head.

---------------------------------------------

Longarm Prime had forgotten to hang up the comm.

He could remember the slight worry he had felt when the Prime had called about the space bridge nexus; Longarm had always been the sort to inflict punishment with nothing more than disappointment, but a gloomy boss was still an unhappy thing to deal with.

"The entire network's been shut down, sir! Ultra Magnus's orders! Apparently, the 'cons are trying to transwarp their way to Cybertron!"

A flitter of worry crossed Longarm's faceplate. "Well.. We.. Can't let that happen, can we?"

That was when Blurr ran in behind the Prime; Longarm had been so startled that he hadn't thought to hang up the line. Cliffjumper had only been able to watch in stunned silence as his boss -- the head of the Intelligence Division, no less -- revealed himself as the traitor and trapped Blurr with their own security system.

_What just happened? This was Longarm Prime! He couldn't have..!_

Cliffjumper felt as if his processor had frozen over and he was still staring at the screen when Longarm Prime returned to the office. The personal assistant had been so flabbergasted by what he had witnessed that he couldn't do much more than look up when the Prime called his name.

"Agent Cliffjumper?" Longarm had stared with slightly widened optics. "Are you all right? You look like you've.." Then, he had stared at the sideways tilted screen.

Cliffjumper had stood slowly, not saying a word. He had ranted on more than a few occasions about what he would do to a traitor if he ever had his servos on one, yet found himself at that moment speechless and unable to move.

"..Agent Cliffjumper.." Longarm suddenly bore a very dark, very uncharacteristic smirk. "You do realize that the panic button you're tapping madly under that desk of yours leads directly to me, right?"

The next thing he had known, his head was meeting the wall in a very painful fashion.

---------------------------------------------

The red minibot groaned. "..Our boss is a traitor."

_You found out about it, too, then. That's why we're in here._ Blurr was visibly frightened despite lethargy. _We're probably slagged in so many ways that there probably isn't a proper word for how slagged we are._

Cliffjumper would have been banging his head on the floor had he been able. "Don't suppose you can move, huh?"

Blurr managed to give an incredulous stare. _Right now, I can barely keep out of recharge._

"Great. Just fantastic." Cliffjumper grumbled, annoyance overriding fear. "Guess we're stuck waiting."

---------------------------------------------

The wait ended up being longer than either of them had anticipated. Most of the time was spent recharging; the stasis cuffs simply robbed them of the ability to do much else. Conversation was exhausting and struggling was outright impossible. So, they waited.

Nearly two full solar cycles came and went before anything happened. The first sign was the unusual soft hiss of a door sliding open. Somehow, the quiet sound awoke both Autobots from slumber.

The two bots exchanged wary glances as loud steps echoed; they would not have even heard the soft return of sound if they hadn't been so close to the floor. It was Blurr who realized what it meant.

_We're on a ship! A small craft probably, but we're definitely on a ship and not inside --_ He stopped flashing as the door directly in front of them slid open.

Two sets of clear blue optics widened at the sight of the towering gray Decepticon; the single slitted optic stared back with a face devoid of expression. The flat faceplate and protruding optic gave a frightening air under normal circumstance and now it was simply terrifying.

They had both been so focused on who was standing in front of them that neither had noticed what a clawed servo held. At least, not until the large, gleaming hammer fell to the floor and let out a resounding thud.

Blurr gaped in horror; Cliffjumper took in a sharp intake but was able to verbalize what had crossed both bound Autobots' minds. "Holy slag, that's..!"

The Decepticon -- Shockwave -- let out a soft chuckle and nudged Ultra Magnus's hammer towards the wall. "Ancient history, now."

They had both been so engrossed in the thoroughly horrifying concept that Ultra Magnus may very well be off-line that they had almost missed when Shockwave began to move towards them. Along the way, gray armor shifted and changed in to the now disturbingly familiar form of Longarm.

The double-agent stood between the two bound mechs, bearing a dark and sinister expression that neither would have ever imagined on his faceplate. A smirk was sent towards Cliffjumper and then towards Blurr.

Longarm -- Shockwave -- whatever his name was -- knelt by the visibly terrified blue mech. A servo gently caressed a smooth white faceplace; Blurr flinched in response.

"_Finally_." The exasperated, yet pleased statement came from the shapeshifter nanoseconds before he grabbed both sides of a crested helm; then, he claimed Blurr's white lips with his own.

Cliffjumper openly gaped; he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Even the knowledge that Longarm was the traitor -- had been the traitor, had always been the traitor -- didn't quite allow in the simple facts of what was occurring now. It wasn't until a soft, yet clear sound rent the air that the minibot was able to shake himself out of the denial.

Blurr _squeaked_. It was a sound of protest and likely the closest thing to a scream he could make.

"Get your Primus-damned servos off him..!" Cliffjumper hissed.

Surprisingly, Longarm did as told; he looked up and back with the same dark grin that was starting to aggravate Cliffjumper's temper. Without any real response, he turned on still kneeling pedes to stare at the red mech that had been his personal assistant.

Longarm let out an amused chuckle before changing form back in to Shockwave. The cyclopian optic bore down on the minibot as a servo slowly hovered over his frame. A single claw set itself on the black and red-painted side before the sharp digit began to trace the armored seams.

Cliffjumper jolted in shock; his mouth opened and closed rapidly in the attempt to verbalize some sort of protest beyond the disturbed horror. The claw slowly made it's way down and was on his waist before a sharp beeping caused the Decepticon to stop.

Shockwave looked up towards the front of the craft. With what sounded like a grunt of disappointment, he stopped his ministrations and stood. Then, he left that section of the ship entirely; the door slid shut behind him.

Blurr's intakes were coming in rapidly, optics wide; Cliffjumper wasn't much different, sound still failing to emit. Despite the shock, both captives still felt it when a slight rumble went through the floor.

They exchanged frightened, silent glances; the craft was _moving_.

---------------------------------------------

_I'm not sorry at all_

_Not sorry at all, not sorry_

_No, I won't be sorry at all_

_Not sorry at all, not sorry, no_

_I'd do it over again_

_Don't look so blue_

_My little decoy_

_You should have seen right through_

_My little decoy_

_As I'm using you_

_My little decoy_

-- "Decoy", Paramore


	2. Chapter 2

Author notes: Writers block got in my waaay~

Warnings: None, yet. Next chapter, there'll be that happy-but-not-so-happy stuff you fangirls and fanboys love. Mmhmm.

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. AHAHAHA. *flop*

As always, for BBPuyo of deviantart. :D She drew a scene from last chapter in her scraps section. Go look. It's titled 'what the', simply enough. XD

I'm personally proud of myself for this song choice. XD

* * *

_Before the story begins, is it such a sin_

_For me to take what's mine until the end of time?_

_We were more than friends before the story ends_

_And I will take what's mine, create what God would never design_

_I was weak with fear that something would go wrong_

_Before the possibilities came true_

_I took all possibility from you_

-- 'A Little Piece of Heaven', Avenged Sevenfold

**Souvenir: Chapter Two**

* * *

Shockwave sauntered out of the Elite Guard craft with joviality. Granted, it wasn't as if most could actually tell if he was pleased or not simply from his lack of facial expressions, but that didn't negate the fact that, despite rumors to the contrary, he certainly did _feel _things.

At the present moment, he was really rather thrilled at his good fortune. Shockwave had known his time as the double agent and spy were coming to an end for quite some time. From the moment his suspicions first began, he had planned to kidnap Field Agent Blurr to take with him; Shockwave had grown somewhat infatuated with the streamlined mech and wanted to make certain of his intents.

For a while, he had worried that Blurr's stay on Earth would have made it all impossible. If Blurr wasn't on Cybertron, there was very little possibility that he would ever have a chance to grab the speedster.

It was as if Primus himself had smiled upon him for Blurr to return to Cybertron the way that he had; he may as well have arrived gift-wrapped. It had been almost impossibly easy to put the plan in to motion.

Granted, the secretary finding out had not been part of said plan. Still, he had considered it an added bonus and saw no harm in adding the crimson minibot in to the Elite Guard souvenir package.

Speaking of which, Cliffjumper was glaring at him. Shockwave expected nothing less, especially as he was half-dragging the drained minibot behind him. A clawed servo wrapped around both small, cuffed wrists forced the furious former secretary to walk along despite the stasis cuffs' continuous drain. Glaring blue optics promised murder; Shockwave found it thoroughly amusing.

Blurr lay sprawled on his shoulder with his aft to the air. Shockwave had made a point to position the blue mech in such a way that a firm grip of said rear end was the best way to make certain he wouldn't fall off; with the spiked helm against his back, he could only imagine the flush that must have crossed his pretty white face. The hiss and gritted dentals, at least, were a vocal sign of the embarrassment.

Briefly, Shockwave wondered if Lord Megatron would even allow him to keep both of them. Prisoners weren't all that common, Elite Guard ones even rarer. Any and all captives were ordinarily clamored for.

Oh, well. He was required to report to the Decepticon Lord first thing, anyway; he may as well ask.

* * *

Blurr had never seen so many Decepticons in his life.

Slung over Shockwave's shoulder, the Elite Guard had ample opportunity to look back and catch sight of what seemed like hundreds of Decepticons in the halls. The wide corridor had been built to allow even the largest, bulkiest of bots to pass through and it now allowed dozens upon dozens of mechs and femmes to stare after them.

The expressions varied. Shock, surprise, curiosity; even a bit of fear. At first, he didn't understand the last of it until a stunned whisper passed from an openly gaping Decepticon.

"Holy slag, is that.. _Shockwave_?!"

Blurr gulped; if even the Decepticons were frightened of the double-agent, he really did not want to know what the shapeshifting Decepticon was planning to do to them. Although the earlier kiss had made suggestions as to his fate, he had adamantly refused to think about it.

With the way he was positioned, Blurr could not see where they were heading. He could, however, see Cliffjumper hissing every time he stumbled on pedes weakened from several days of inactivity; all the speedster could do was frown in worry, still unable to speak.

The hiss of yet another door opening sounded off; this time, Blurr knew something different lay within the room they were heading inside simply by the expression on Cliffjumpers' face. The red minibots' optics widened and his jaw hung agape. The door slid shut behind them.

"My lord Megatron." Shockwave began; with a sudden lurch, the shapeshifter knelt. His bound captive on his shoulder bouncing ever so slightly in response. "At long last, I serve you, my liege, under my true colors."

Wait, _Megatron_? The supreme, nigh-immortal lord of the Decepticon army? The so-called _slag-maker_? _That_ Megatron?

Blurr quickly understood why Cliffjumper was gaping. He almost didn't notice that Shockwave's frame had changed color to a deep, rather sinister shade of dark purple in his growing alarm.

"Rise, Shockwave, my most loyal servant!" That was unmistakably Megatron; Blurr shuddered slightly as he recalled numerous horror stories of the blade-wielding, flying mech.

Another lurch came as Shockwave stood upright again. He hadn't once let go or even acknowledged either of his bound captives as he did so.

"You have done well, Shockwave." Megatron sounded pleased. "You have performed your undercover duties without complaint for nearly a thousand stellar cycles and have now brought us the prized weapon of that fool Ultra Magnus as well. You have brought considerable benefit for the cause that would not exist otherwise."

"Thank you, my liege." Shockwave's pride was practically tangible.

"And you have brought some guests, as well." Blurr could have sworn the warlord sounded amused.

"Yes, my liege." Shockwave bowed his helm slightly. "If I may, my lord, I would like to keep them."

"Both of them?"

"Yes, my lord." The clawed grip tightened; Blurr hissed at the extra pressure on his rear end and was unable to keep the mortified flush from forming.

A soft chuckle erupted from Megatron. He paused a moment in consideration. "Very well, then. For all that you have done for the cause, you deserve the reward."

"Thank you, my liege." Delight coated Shockwave's tone.

"You are dismissed, Shockwave. Your quarters are where you left them."

Shockwave bowed his helm again before pivoting on his pedes; he let go of Cliffjumpers' bound wrists before the turn only to grab it again directly after; the minibot had only realized the few second lax on his hands had occurred after it was over.

As the shapeshifter made his way to leave, Megatron's voice caused him to stop again.

"Oh, and, Shockwave.. I hope there isn't a repeat of the last time."

Shockwave paused a moment. Then, he let out a small chuckle. "No promises, my lord."

Blurr looked up; Megatron only grinned.

* * *

The journey through the hallways revealed quite a bit of information. For one thing, the Autobots had underestimated just how many Decepticons there were by a staggering amount. Although the flagship was bound to be the epicenter of Decepticon activity, there still should not have been that many in the halls alone.

Cliffjumper knew all of this simply because of what his job had been. As the personal assistant to the Prime of the Intelligence Division, he had personally scoured thousands of reports in his stellar cycles of service. An important factor of his job was to condense those reports for the Prime.

None of them ever mentioned numbers nearly this high. Simple math led to sums that he was not happy with.

Eventually, they arrived at their destination. Shockwave stopped by a pair of split sealed doors, tapped in a quick set of numbers in to a keypad, and then walked inside. As the door slid shut behind them, the shapeshifting Decepticon let go of the minibots' bindings; without the support, Cliffjumper tumbled like a bag of bricks to the floor after a few failed seconds of standing on his own.

He swore as loud as he could when he hit the floor. The minibot barely had the strength to look up to see if Blurr was being given similar treatment.

By the way Blurr was practically dumped on the floor, it didn't appear Shockwave cared if they received a few dents or not. The special agent let out a hiss as he fell.

Cliffjumper couldn't do much else but look on as Shockwave pulled a long strip of chain from a subspace compartment and wired them through the hollow wheels of Blurrs' pedes. The chains were snapped together in a loop but didn't appear tight enough to restrict movement. Then, a clawed servo tapped at the multiple sets of stasis cuffs and removed them all.

The stasis cuffs binding Cliffjumper were removed as well. All four sets were tossed in what looked like a closet; the sliding door went up and down too quickly to really get a look of what was inside.

"Stay here." Shockwave looked down at the two Autobot prisoners as they slowly regained their strength. "I will return shortly." Without much more fanfare, the Decepticon turned and left back the way they came.

Cliffjumper took in a deep intake; strength was returning too slow for his liking. After a few seconds, he managed to stagger to his feet; without the cuffs, there was no longer a continuous drain on his systems. "Blurr.." He coughed on a hitch in his intake. "..Are you okay?"

"IthinkI'mokay." Blurr winced, using the wall for support to get to his own two feet. "Whytheslagdidhe --" He took two steps and fell forward again. "Ack!"

"Blurr?!" Cliffjumper made his way towards his fellow captive.

"..Oh, thatsonofaglitch." Blurr swore, glaring down at the strip of chain at his wheel struts. "Ican'trunwiththisthingon!" He sat up and grabbed at the chain, pulling at the seemingly ancient chain-link.

As the speedster grumbled, Cliffjumper took a moment to look around the room. It seemed like any other small apartment; a simple berth against the wall with closets on either side, a shelf of datapads and a small sitting area by a window. An open door led to what looked like a small washrack and a personal communication console lay by the door. There weren't any visible personal mementos of any sort; the only thing vaguely resembling one was the large Decepticon symbol on the wall.

"..Maybe there's a way out." The red minibot said it more to himself as he slowly made his way around the small room. It was even smaller than his own apartment on Cybertron.

A quarter of a megacycle proved fruitless; the split-seam door wouldn't open no matter what Cliffjumper tapped in to the button lock and the communication console simply wouldn't turn on. Once Blurr had realized the chains allowed him to walk, he had joined in on the search.

Neither had bothered with the closets; the door to one opened only when Blurr grew frustrated and leaned against the wall a little too close. The speedster looked to the hiss of the sliding door out of reflex. "..Uhm.."

"What? Found something?" Cliffjumper rushed to Blurr's side and looked in the closet only to pull back in sudden horror. "Holy slag!"

"What, whatisthisstuff?" Blurr blinked, baffled.

Cliffjumper turned to stare at Blurr as if he had lost his mind, slightly mortified. "..Oh, Primus. You have no idea what this stuff is?!" He gestured to the closet.

".. _Should_Iknowwhat anyofthisstuffis?" Blurr looked inside the closet, visibly confused. ".. Stasiscuffsand, uhm, bottlefothingsand, hey, whyarethesehandcuffsfuzzy?"

Cliffjumper openly gaped. "..Oh, dear Primus. You've never.." It took him a moment to form the word, wincing slightly. ".._Interfaced _with anyone?!"

"What?" Blurr looked back, stunned. "OfcourseIhavebutwhat'sthatgottodo --" Realization struck with a visible jolt. "Holyslag! Whythefragdoes _Shockwave_ haveaclosetfullof _interfacetoys_?!" He paused a brief moment as his quick processor came to their own conclusions. "OhPrimushe_kissed_meontheship!"

As Blurr rambled in newfound panic, Cliffjumper rubbed his faceplate; he was somewhat relieved to know that the blue mech wasn't nearly as naive and innocent as he feared. Still, the knowledge that there was, in fact, a closet full of things that were likely going to be used in very uncomfortable manners sent a shiver up his frame. He decided not to try to see what the _other _closet held.

"We'resofragged." Blurr shuddered, whimpering slightly.

* * *

_And I know, I know it's not your time_

_But bye-bye_

_And a word to the wise, when the fire dies_

_You think it's over, but it's just begun_

_You had my heart, at least for the most part_

_'Cause everybody's gotta die sometime_

_We fell apart, let's make a new start_

_'Cause everybody's gotta die sometime_

-- "A Little Piece of Heaven", Avenged Sevenfold


	3. Chapter 3

Author notes: I blame Puyo for this entirely. You know who you are. I blame you. YOU. *epic point of epicness*

Warnings: Giant alien space robot rape scene! ... Yaaay!

I'm slightly ashamed of myself for writing this chapter.

-------------------------------------------------

_I have snipped your wingspan_

_My precious captive swan_

_Here all clipped of kickstand_

_Your spirit won't last long_

_Don't you lift a finger_

_Don't you snap and jaw_

_Limber limbs akimbo_

_Rest 'till rubbing raw_

-- 'Margaret in Captivity', The Decemberists

**Souvenir: Chapter Three**

-------------------------------------------------

In the end, Cliffjumper decided he really did not want to know what was in the other closet. If the contents of the first closet had been anything to go by, the second may very well contain even worse devices and instruments. The very notion sent a shiver along his frame.

Waiting for Shockwave to return was like waiting for the gavel to fall, a proclamation of what was almost certainly a terrible fate. As the red minibot sat on the edge of a disturbingly comfortable sofa and tried very hard not to panic, his blue cellmate -- and the room was a cell, a prison in every sense of the word despite posh interior -- paced back and forth in a frenzied manner. The strip of chain didn't allow his legs to stretch far enough apart to run, but Blurr wound up being quite fast with the shortened stride regardless.

For a moment, Cliffjumper nearly complained about the constant tapping of pedes and chain-link against the floor. Then, he had seen the absolutely terrified expression on the Elite Guard Agent's faceplate.

Blurr, after all, had been the one kissed in the shuttle. It was painfully obvious what Shockwave intended to do when he returned and who the target of such sinful thoughts were. They both had a feeling how the next few hours would play out and neither looked forward to it.

Cliffjumper shook his head; they had never seen this coming. That felt like the worst of it all; Longarm Prime had never so much as looked at either of them in such a manner. No flirting, no longing glances, nothing that the 'workplace harassment guide' ever suggested to be a precursor to actual assault.

He had worked for Longarm for nearly a hundred and thirty-seven solar cycles and he hadn't seen this coming. Had never given it so much as a thought. He would have laughed if someone had suggested such a thing less than a week beforehand.

A shrill, keen bell suddenly sounded off; Blurr nearly fell forward as he turned sharply to stare at the source. The small clock hanging above the berth stared back. The blue mech let out a deep intake with a hand over his spark. "Primus..!"

Cliffjumper shook his head, but not for annoyance; he hated to admit that the simple, innocuous alarm clock had caused him momentary panic as well. They were jumpy; little better than a pair of frightened turbo-rabbits. If the _wait _was this bad, how horrible would it get when Shockwave actually arrived?

Before the red minibot could even finish the question in his own processor, a soft hiss went through the air. The simple, common and almost ignorable sound of a door sliding open; Blurr swiveled on restrained pedes and backed up immediately as his red companion jumped off the chair to join him.

Cliffjumper stood with one arm stretched in a protective motion in front of Blurr. The taller Elite Guard stared for a moment at the red minibot in shocked surprise before quickly looking back up at the rather menacing and utterly terrifying Decepticon that was calmly walking inside the room.

Shockwave stopped a short distance away, expressionless helm tilted ever so slightly to the side. Despite lack of most facial forms, the Decepticon appeared vaguely amused as the door slid shut behind him.

For a long, tense few seconds, silence reigned. Neither side moved save for slight trembling on the part of both captive Autobots. Shockwave barely even blinked; more than ever before did the Elite Guards wished the spy they had unwittingly worked for had facial expressions.

Neither Blurr nor Cliffjumper were able to predict Shockwave's moves and certainly were unable to defend against the large, clawed Decepticon as he suddenly lurched forward. Blurr let out a small yelp that bordered on a scream as a taloned servo grabbed one of his arms in a vice-like grip.

"Hey!" Cliffjumper punched at the much taller mech; sheer size made his attempts as effective as a sparklings'. "Leave him --" Shockwave backhanded the minibot with such force that he flew across the room and tumbled along the floor with a strangled yelp.

"Cliffjumper!" Blurr screamed in shock, pulling in vain against the grip on his arm. With growing panic, the blue mech realized he was ill equipped to handle the situation; he was completely unarmed and his speed was rendered useless in the restraints. "LetgoletgoletgodearPrimusletgoofme!"

Chained pedes dug in to the floor to no avail; Shockwaves' other servo grabbed hold of the flailing blue mechs' free arm and pulled him up. Blurr let out a cry as he was lifted in the air and slammed harshly on the berth.

An angry shriek tore through the air as a small red frame leapt from behind to grab at Shockwaves' back and sensory antennas. Fists that were almost tiny in comparison rained down on the cyclops; the Decepticon twitched once. Then, he grabbed at the minibot on his back with one claw while still pinning Blurr down with the other.

"Going to be troublesome, are you?" Amusement coated Shockwave's voice as he stared at a furiously hissing Cliffjumper. His claws easily clasped around the minibots' chassis and pinned his arms to his side, yet the former secretary continued to flail and growl. With the roll of his optic, he slid off of Blurr without needing to let the blue Autobot free; the clawed servo remained atop the speedsters' chest as his arm elongated itself.

Simply because he no longer took Longarms' guise did not mean he no longer possessed Longarms' skills.

"Let this be a lesson, then." Shockwave would have smirked had he been able. "If either of you interfere with my intentions to the other, you will recharge here instead of somewhere more comfortable." With that, he made his way towards the closet by the berthside, ignoring the glares and threats from both Autobots as he did so; the sliding door opened as he neared it.

For a moment, Shockwave paused. "Hmm. Forgot I had that in there." Then, he tossed Cliffjumper inside. The door slid shut of it's own accord and did not open again.

"Son of a glitch!" The minibots' muffled voice and soft pounding could be heard from inside. "I'll _kill _you! I swear to Primus, I'll tear your arms off and --" The threat and the pounding stopped abruptly. After a moment, the pounding began again with a frenzy.

"Where were we?" Shockwave moved back towards Blurr and straddled the still struggling Elite Guard. "Ah, yes.."

Blurr trembled in unrestrained horror; he knew what Shockwave intended and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. "Pleasedon'tdothispleasedon'tdothis..!" Despite struggling as forcefully as he was able, the much larger Decepticon easily grabbed both of his hands and pinned them above his head. "Pleasedon'tdothis..!"

One of Shockwaves' servos easily pinned both his own; the other clawed at his enclosed spark chamber. It took what seemed to be a very long cycle to find the hidden latches and seams; when they were sprung open and the spark laid bare and nude, Blurr whimpered. Cerulean optics clenched shut in abject terror; when they dared to open again several seconds later, the Decepticons' spark chamber was open as well.

Blurr openly gaped; the glowing sphere that was everything to all Cybertronians was at _least _twice the size of his own. The extra electrical charges and energy needed to simply operate that size of a spark would surely hurt; he had heard stories of smaller bots offlining in the attempt to interface with sparks too much larger than their own, sparks extinguished by too great a polarized charge.

"OhdearPrimus.." The speedster looked up at the large slitted optic hovering over him. "I'mgoingtoofflineifyoudothis!"

"Ssh. It will be all right." Shockwave actually whispered the words as his frame dipped downwards; their sparks met slowly and with incredible care. "You will adjust in time."

Despite the care taken, pain still erupted within the Autobots' spark chamber; although it likely wasn't nearly the pain that would have come from a much more aggressive assault, a high-pitched whine still erupted from the back of Blurrs' voice synthesizer. Chained pedes kicked past his straddled and pinned hip in a fit of desperation.

For the first time in his life, Blurr couldn't find any words for the situation. All he could do was weep.

After a few long seconds of the two sparks simply resting against each other, Shockwave began to move, gently thrusting his frame against the one beneath him. A shocked, pain-filled cry came in response; still, he continued his ministrations and only increased the speed and tempo as the cycles passed.

There was nothing in his entire life and the dozens upon dozens of undercover missions he had run that could compare to what Blurr was feeling at that moment; the pain was nothing like he had ever felt before. Coherency had abandoned him when the attack on his spark began and he couldn't do much more than cry out in dismay. He wanted Shockwave off of him; he just wanted him to stop.

Shockwave didn't stop, of course; with time elongated from his very condition, Blurr simply didn't know how long it was before his own systems couldn't take the strain of the overly charged energies ripping through his very core. Even as he came to a painful, exhaustive overload in the attempt to rid himself of the other spark, he could have sworn his chronometer had to be glitching to proclaim the utterly _short _time that had passed.

The Decepticon let out a soft moan; several more very painful cycles passed before Shockwave overloaded as well.

The force of the much larger spark hammering such a strong bout of current through his systems knocked the speedster offline almost at once; all Blurr managed was a final wail before the darkness claimed him.

During the less than hour-long episode, neither bot noticed that the pounding from the closet had never stopped.

-------------------------------------------------

The clock above the berth claimed that it was almost morning. Although Cybertron did not revolve around a sun or had any sort of natural shift of 'daylight', most mechs and femmes began the day at about the same time. Although discrepancies occurred based on situation, 'morning' for both Autobot and Decepticon kind typically began around six.

At the moment, the clock claimed it was almost four. The numbers flashed at a somewhat awkward angle for the mech staring up at the digital display, but the numbers lit up boldly enough to leave little room for mistakes.

Blurr couldn't help the whimper; he had been online for only a few cycles now and had been unable to move the entire time. Movement was the very meaning of his existence; to be forced to stay still was a small torture. Of course, the reason behind his inability to run was physically pinning him down in silent recharge; _that _torture was far worse than anything else.

He was afraid. There was no other way to reason it; the Elite Guard was absolutely terrified, horrified, and every other verb that defined the sick feeling pervading his processor and spark. Blurr twitched, barely holding back more whimpers in the attempt to push the monster of a Decepticon off of him.

For several long cycles, nothing happened. Shockwave was simply too heavy. Then, a very soft, almost silent hiss rent the air; he wasn't certain what it was until a voice accompanied it.

"If you're unable to rest, we can always have another go." Shockwave's voice came within a mumble.

Blurr didn't dare move for the rest of the night.

-------------------------------------------------

The closet opened of its own accord; Cliffjumper could only assume there was some sort of timer involved for the door to open without anyone to set it off. Regardless of the how or why, the red minibot scrambled out as soon as the door was open.

For quite some time, he had been ready to place the past several hours amongst the top of his 'worst experiences' list; that was, until he got back to somewhat shaky pedes and saw the expression on Blurrs' face as the cerulean bot sat up on the edge of the berth. Shockwave was nowhere in sight.

"Blurr.." Even Cliffjumper could tell the blue mech was in some sort of shock; the ordinarily fast agent simply sat there and stared at the floor. "Blurr..?"

Blurrs' intake hitched; the red minibot had spent enough time in oil bars to know what that sound meant. After a quick glance around, he spotted a small garbage bin near the berth; he grabbed it and brought it to his blue companion bare seconds before Blurr vomited inside it.

Cliffjumper winced; not knowing what else to do, he simply patted a blue arm in what he hoped was a comforting manner.

He had the distinct feeling he was in shock as well; everything seemed distant.

After several seconds of sickness, Blurr moaned. The speedster trembled slightly as he looked back up. "Thanks.." His intake let out a small hiccup. "Areyouokay?"

The red minibot stared at his fellow Autobot as if he had lost his mind. "I'm.. Fine. Perfectly okay."

A small, bitter smirk crossed a white faceplate. "You'reahorribleliar." Then, Blurr blinked in a deep confusion, olfactory sensors twitching. "..Primus, theslagisthat_smell_?" A crested helm turned to the source of the rather pungent odor; towards the closet. At once, his jaw dropped.

"...Yeah. That." Cliffjumper shuddered slightly.

"There'sabodyinthecloset." Blurr's voice came in a thin, horrified strain; optics blinked rapidly as if to make the sight before him vanish. "..There'sa_body_inthe_closet_."

Cliffjumper shifted in place, glancing back at the unmoving, gray frame he had been locked with for the night; it had likely been offline for stellar cycles. At least, the horrific stench emanating from the small frame -- he suspected it was either a minibot or a sparkling, and both were rather frightening notions -- could only result from unprocessed energon and fluids staying in a corpse for an extraordinarily long time.

"Yourechargedwith_that_?!" A deep shudder went through Blurrs' frame. Then, what he was actually witnessing hammered in to his usually quick processor. "OhdearPrimus, Shockwavehasabodyinacloset." He pulled the garbage bin close and vomited again.

-------------------------------------------------

_Don't hold out for rescue_

_None can hear your call_

_'Till I have rest and wrecked you_

_Behind these fortress walls_

-- 'Margaret in Captivity', The Decemberists


	4. Chapter 4

Author notes: Blagh, I got the flu. It wiped a solid week off of any possible writing I may've done. Blargh.

This plot keeps changing even as I type it up. Wheeee..

... If anyone recognizes the nameless bot at the end of this chapter, you earn a cookie.

-------------------------------------------------------

_I have brought you_

_That our passions may fuse and merge_

_In your mind, you've already succumbed to me_

_Dropped all defenses_

_Completely succumbed to me_

_Now, you are here with me_

_No second thoughts.._

_Past the point of no return_

_No backwards glances_

_Our games of make believe are at an end_

_Past of all thought of "if" or "when".._

_No use resisting!_

_Abandon thought and let the dream descend_

_Beyond the point of no return.._

-- 'Point of No Return', Phantom of the Opera

**Souvenir: Chapter Four**

-------------------------------------------------------

Cliffjumper was loathe to admit it, but he was afraid. Although paranoia had always been a natural frame of mind for him -- working in the intelligence division had only fed his natural wariness --, the terror that was now afflicting his processor had been previously unfathomable.

Despite that the situation had spanned over several days of time, it felt as if it had all happened incredibly fast. Shock had only begun to ebb away in to the stark reality; he found that all he could do was stand there in the attempt to process it all. The hand he had set on Blurrs' arm served as a strange physical anchor to the real world.

They had been kidnapped; somehow, he was only realizing that now. They had been _kidnapped _right out of what was considered the safest place on Cybertron -- in the universe, most likely -- and were now being held against their will in the enemy stronghold. Blurr had been assaulted in the worst possible way and, dimly, Cliffjumper wondered how long it would be before he was attacked as well.

Blurr was still heaving in to the trash bin; empty fuel tanks released nothing. In the relative silence, the sound of water running through pipes caught the red minibots' attention. He looked to a closed door in the corner; the washracks lay beyond it, a faint plume of steam escaping through the small crack where the sliding metal met the floor.

Logically, Shockwave had to be inside. An ember of fury formed at the notion that their abductor had the gall to clean himself after the brutal violation of the captured Elite Guard.

As if on cue to his thoughts, Blurr moaned in to the bin. "Oh, Primus. Thiscan'tbehappening.. We'regoingtobeherefortherestofourlives, aren'twe?"

It took a moment to dissect the garrulous depression; Cliffjumper sputtered at the notion presented. "No.. Oh, slag, no." The righteous anger grew within him. "Primus, Blurr, people are going to notice you're missing..! Someone's going to figure out what happened.. We're _not_ going to let the fragger just.. Just get away with this!"

The cerulean speedster looked up to stare with a deep, resigned sorrow. "_He_washerefortherestof_his_life."

Cliffjumper didn't need to ask who his cellmate referred to; he had spent the past several hours with the corpse, after all. "There's a way out." Panic began to creep in to his tone. "There has to be. It.. There just _has_ to be a way out."

"Howareyousosure?" Blurrs' voice barely rose above a whisper.

Cliffjumper didn't get the chance to think of an answer; a hiss rent the air as the faint musk of steam met their olfactory sensors. At once, both Autobots looked towards the open washrack door in anticipated terror.

Shockwave took one sopping wet step in to the room; the shower continued to rain water behind him. "Blurr, come here."

The Elite Guard in question jolted harshly at the call; the trash bin in his arms nearly fell from the force of his own tremors. Bright blue optics stared sidelong at the Decepticon and silence reigned for a long moment.

"..Why?" The blue mechs' reply came in a thin, terrified strain.

Their captor appeared less than amused. A soft sigh escaped the cyclops as he took the few long strides needed to get to the berthside as claws reached and grabbed Blurrs' arms; the Autobot let out a startled cry and instantly began to struggle. The trash bin fell to the floor; it landed flat and didn't spill.

"Hey!" Cliffjumper rushed at Shockwave as the Decepticon began to drag a flailing Elite Guard towards the washracks. The ember flared deep within him. "Let him go! Put him down!"

For the most part, Shockwave ignored his second captive; only when the crimson minibot attempted to follow them in to the washracks did the Decepticon shove Cliffjumper back. The force threw the smaller mech to the floor; the sliding door hissed shut before he had a chance to get back to his feet.

Cliffjumper swore as he scrambled back upright; he rushed at the door and pounded against it. It did not open even when a short wail came from inside. After a long cycle of no success and the realization that the door likely wasn't going to open until Shockwave wanted it to, the minibot stepped back with a furious snort.

A sudden click came from behind him; Cliffjumper turned sharply at the noise. After a moment, his optics fell directly on the communications console. The console clicked again; as he took several slow steps towards it, the screen flared to life.

A generic animated happy face briefly crossed the screen. Then, a blank passkey box flickered on. The Autobot frowned, perturbed, as he reached the computer.

He had worked under Longarm Prime for over a century; in that time, the undercover Decepticon had used a myriad of passwords and had changed them frequently. As his personal assistant, Cliffjumper had known every single one of those passwords and had prided himself in the ability to recall them all with fluency. Surely, he reasoned -- hoped --, one of those passwords had to unlock the computer.

It was too good an opportunity to pass up; if the console worked the way he thought it did, it would be equipped with, at the very least, an email system. With any luck, the Autobots could be contacted and told of their situation.

Cliffjumper began to type in recalled passwords; each failure only crossed another line of data off of his mental list. The minibot knew that it could quite possibly take months to get all the passwords in, but there was simply no other way around it.

Nearly half an hour passed; the sound of running water abruptly stopped. As soon as the distinct lack of sound registered, Cliffjumper cleared the last password and stepped back; quickly, he sat at the nearest chair. He did not want to find out what would happen should Shockwave catch him.

After a long cycle, the door opened; a subdued, shaking Blurr stepped out first with his arms around his frame in a self-enclosed embrace. The blue mech was dry, frame gleaming; all the scuff marks and dents from the previous nights' abuse were gone. Cliffjumper shot up and ran to his side but maintained silence; both glanced from each other to the tall Decepticon behind them.

Shockwave didn't appear to notice that anything was amiss; the Decepticon sidestepped his prisoners entirely and made his way towards the berthside closet they had stumbled across the day before. Blurr whimpered in recollection of what it contained and hugged himself tighter.

Except for the sounds of claws digging through the closet itself, silence reigned. When Shockwave stepped back to allow the automatic door to slide shut, he gripped what looked suspiciously like a pair of retro-wolf collars.

Cliffjumper seethed in realization. "We're _not_ wearing those."

Despite lack of facial features, Shockwave somehow appeared amused. He strode towards the unmoving Autobots. "You do realize that I could simply _force _them on."

Blurr trembled, but managed to glare at Shockwave. "You'reasicksick_sick_monster, youknowthat?"

"So you've said." Shockwave chuckled; the light laughter incited deep, hateful glares from both of his prisoners. Still, neither resisted as the thin metal was clasped around their necks; they had to pick and choose their battles here, and this one simply wasn't worth the injury.

Short chain leashes were clasped on to the collars; one clawed servo held the tail end of both. Without any further fanfare and ignoring the furious hissing, Shockwave led both Autobots out in to the hall.

-------------------------------------------------------

For the most part, the hallways were empty. A few Decepticons milled about, but the hour appeared to still be too early for there to be the vast number that had been there upon their arrival. At least, that was the only conclusion the two Autobots could land upon; thinking about such things distracted them from the ever present worry that now haunted their processors.

Neither dared to ask where Shockwave was taking them; not when in the belly of the Decepticon flagship. Caution, after all, was the better part of valor; it was better to look for a chance of escape and take note of detail rather than causing a fuss. Still, fear may have had a good hand in their silence.

The journey through the halls did not last long; they soon came across a large doorless archway. The dull trill of distant conversations came from inside; once they were able to look past Shockwaves' larger frame, they readily began to relax.

It was simply a mess hall. It almost appeared to be a standard cafeteria with the dozens of tables set about in rows; only a fraction of the room was occupied with mechs and femmes sitting about in small pockets. If it weren't for the small curved section in the back -- set with a much more expensive-looking, fancier table and even a chandelier --, it could have easily been comparable to what the Elite Guard had in their own headquarters.

Shockwave pulled them along towards the concave. A literal throne that likely belonged to Megatron himself sat at the head of the table; no one sat at any of the chairs now. The cyclops quietly attached both leashes to a small hook on the wall before moving towards an energon dispenser.

Only when Shockwave was gone did Blurr dare to breathe. "Primus.."

"You can say that again." Cliffjumper whispered, but did not look to his blue companion. Instead, he gazed with wide optics across the room.

Blurr frowned and hesitantly followed the minibots' gaze. It took him a moment to spot what caused the slight distress; his jaw dropped when he did.

Leashed and tethered in precisely the same fashion as they were, another mech with blue optics sat, despondent, on the floor by an occupied table.

"..There's.. Other.." The ordinarily fast speaker sputtered.

"Nothing like this was ever in any of the reports." Cliffjumpers' words came even slower. "Nothing about.. Autobot _slaves_. I've never heard of anything like this."

Blurr had to struggle to stay silent; chained pedes shook beneath him and he slid down against the wall until he sat on the floor; he barely noticed when Cliffjumper sat next to him. The speedster glanced around the room in a slight panic and quickly spotted several other restrained Autobots against the wall at different parts of the room.

A strained whimper escaped from Blurrs' vocals; he covered his mouth with shaking hands, not trusting himself to stay silent with this new revelation.

After several cycles, Shockwave strode back towards his two prisoners. He said nothing as he set two filled cubes on the floor next to them. Then, he turned and casually sat at the nearby table, quietly sipping a cube of his own. Without a visible mouth, it wasn't clear where the pink-hued liquid went.

As the cycles passed, the mess hall began to fill with more Decepticons. The volume rose with the added numbers, melding together in to incoherency. A small group sat at a standard table not far away; the two recognized them as the group known as 'Team Charr' from reports that they had read. A tall purple mech with upwards pointed sensory horns clasped a leash to a hook next to their own; the form it was attached to sat down barely a mechanometer away.

Both Blurr and Cliffjumper gaped at the mech sitting practically by their side; he was a taller mech -- closer to the average size for most Autobots than they were -- and sported what might have been a yellow and blue paint job if it weren't covered in dents, scrapes and wounds. A particularly nasty looking scar along the side of a yellow helm leaked a thin, fresh trail of pink lifeblood; the most recent wound of a long history of abuse. Slowly, blue optics looked up to meet their own with a languid, sad smile.

"Hey.. You're new.." Barely above a hoarse whisper.

"Holy slag." Cliffjumper sputtered in undisguised horror.

"Hehe.." The wounded mech looked back to the floor. "Yeah. That about sums it up. Who're the slaggers that got you two?"

It took a long cycle to bypass the shock. Blurr managed to take in a shaky intake. "Sh.. Shockwave."

The mech blinked when no further answers were forthcoming. "..Both of you? Huh.." He seemed to ponder a moment. "Guess the rumors are true. Guy likes variety." The shudders that went through the two Elite Guards' frames were either missed or ignored. "You guys got the bigger end of the stick, though. Two slaves for one guy, he's probably gonna take turns. You get to rest sometimes."

A deep shudder ran through Cliffjumpers' frame; Blurr gaped at the yellow and blue mech as if he had lost his mind.

Despite not looking at them, the listless bot seemed to know what expression was being sent his way; a short, bitter chuckle responded. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I belong to a whole fraggin' _team_. Don't think I got a good recharge in a long time. You two'r _lucky_ compared to the rest of us."

Neither Cliffjumper nor Blurr made a sound or reply; they simply stared.

-------------------------------------------------------

_You have brought me_

_To the moment where words run dry_

_To that moment where speech disappears_

_In to silence.. Silence.._

_Past the point of no return_

_No going back, now;_

_Our passion-play has now at last begun_

_Past all thought of right or wrong_

_One final question:_

_When will the flames, at last, consume us?_

_Past the point of no return_

_The final threshold_

_The bridge is crossed_

_So stand and watch it burn!_

_We've passed the point of no return.._

-- 'Point of No Return', Phantom of the Opera


	5. Chapter 5

Author Notes: The scenes in this thing are taking longer than I thought it would. I don't know why, but when I sit down to write it, things just.. Run long. I wanted to include a scene to end the last chapter that hasn't even occurred yet. XD This is.. Strange.

Oh, hey, also: bbpuyo of deviantart has another picture in her scraps section. I think the mystery bot is pretty darn obvious from that point.

Hey, I actually have reviews to respond to, this time. Whee!

To EVERYONE who guessed Hot Shot: It would have been funny, but it would have sort of broken the time-space continuum. But never fear! ... He may show up later.

Blackmoondragon1415: Seaspray? ... Seaspray?! ... That guess was so awesome, I had to slide him in somewhere anyway. And, yes, trauma is pretty much unavoidable at this point. XD

FinalFatasyBabe of deviantart: More slaves? .. I'll do my best.

Lucy300 of deviantart: TIME TRAVELER! *points*

* * *

_I woke up on this side_

_I thought it was a dream_

_At first we learned to walk_

_Then learned to scream_

_You can't understand when you're fed from a TV screen_

_You can't see the things that I can see_

_Some things just never stay_

_And we all just slip away_

_This can't be the real world, now_

_I don't believe it_

_When I can't see the truth_

_Welcome to the real world, now_

_The old are carried in only to poison youth_

_Am I the only one who thinks it's tragic?_

_'Cause I know this can't be the real world now.._

-- "Real World", The All-American Rejects

**Souvenir: Chapter Five**

* * *

Blurr had the deep, unsettling feeling that if he opened his mouth, he would scream. This somewhat disturbing revelation was accompanied with the knowledge that if he began to scream, he likely wouldn't be able to stop for a very long while. So, the blue Elite Guard clamped both hands over his own mouth and refused to let go.

Everything that had been tumbling in his processor over the past two solar cycles were now settling uncomfortably alongside newly learned information; had he not been where he was -- had he been safe in Elite Guard headquarters and learning all this about someone else --, he would have been stunned. With the chain-link tethering him to the wall, he was instead completely and utterly terrified.

The previous night had been the single most terrible thing he had ever gone through. At the time, he simply hadn't been able to consider that it was only the start; the very idea that the nightmare was only beginning sent a deep fear through his systems that almost blanked his processor. Despite the attempt to muffle himself, a high pitched squeak escaped.

Cliffjumper slowly turned to stare; the red minibot displayed all the classic signs of shock. It suddenly occurred to Blurr that the red mech hadn't been a soldier or had ever been out in the field before this; Cliffjumper never would have braced himself for captivity if he had ever even thought of it at all. Blurr, at least, had passed Elite Guard training and all the thought-provoking tests on the subject that came with it; Cliffjumper had been a _secretary_.

Shame coursed through him; the secretary had been the one trying to protect the soldier, and he was the one who couldn't keep from screaming. Despite it all, his voice synthesizer let out another cry.

"Hey.." The slow quiet whisper from the yellow mech distracted him; the injured helm looked past Cliffjumper to stare. "It's a good idea to stay quiet around here. They don't really care if we talk to each other, but if we bother them, then they get fragged off."

Blurr couldn't help from staring at the yellow and blue mech for several long seconds; the tone he carried insinuated experience on the subject. Cliffjumper seemed to hit the same conclusion; the red minibot turned to stare.

"How long have you _been _here?" Cliffjumpers' tone was soft and more subdued that Blurr could remember ever hearing before.

"Uhm.." A thoughtful expression crossed the mechs' face. A long cycle passed; if he had to think that deeply, Blurr surmised, he must have been here entirely too long.

Dimly, the speedster realized why he was so strangely familiar; the mech shared a protoform mold similar to Rodimus Prime and even had a similar crest adorning his helm.

"A.. Couple hundred stellar cycles, I think?" The mech shrugged nonchalantly. "Somewhere around three hundred or three fifty. After a while, I sort of stopped counting." A sad, tired smile crossed his face.

A moment of silence passed as they took in this information. A strangled, muffled cry escaped from Blurrs' voice synthesizer again at the concept of surviving centuries in such a place.

The shock was slow to pass; Cliffjumper's jaw opened and closed several times in the attempt to form words. On his fourth attempt, he finally sputtered; still, his words came in a thin, strained keen that almost seemed like that a sparkling might have held. "..How do you _live_ like this?"

The sad smile grew. "Not much of a choice. It's either survive and hope maybe we get to go home one day or, uhm.." He winced slightly. "Or we go home like that guy did." A servo pointed to the far corner.

A thickly framed mech with strangely set, broken jets on his shoulders sat in the far corner, curled up upon himself. Even from the far distance they were at and all the bots that blocked their view, it was clear that the mech was not only rocking back and forth, but also sported a wide, mad grin from underneath a cracked and broken faceguard.

Several cycles passed as they stared in stunned horror. It took several deep, shuddering intakes before either of them could think again.

"..I'm Cliffjumper." It came out as a squeak. "That's Blurr. What's your name?"

Again, the mech paused in thought. After a moment, a wry chuckle left him. "Oh, it's been so long.. Frag, if I could track back through time to remember it, I'd let you know." Optics flickered once as an amused expression came about. "..What the slag. Trackback. S'good a name as anything else."

* * *

Blurrs' hands were still over his mouth when Shockwave led them out. Cliffjumper didn't blame him for his caution; he had actually been surprised he hadn't screamed as well. Perhaps some sense of disbelief was still in play; the entire situation simply seemed unreal.

A nightmare, perhaps; sooner or later, they'd both wake up somewhere safe and familiar and laugh over a nice mug of oil over the shared hallucination.

Cheerful humming broke his train of thought; the red minibot looked up at the Decepticon leading them along in shock. Shockwave was actually _humming_ an upbeat tune. That familiar ember of fury flared again but was unable to break through the numb haze.

Along the way to wherever it was the Decepticon was leading them, a shrill scream sounded from a corridor they had passed; dark, wild laughter accompanied it. Blurr jolted and turned his head to face the sound; somehow, he didn't stumble despite the trembling that had overtaken his chassis. Cliffjumper shuddered and decided it would be better if they simply did not know what was happening behind them.

The pained cries followed them through the halls. It did not stop; they simply walked too far to hear it. Shockwave continued to hum even as he stopped before a pair of very large, old-fashioned double doors; there, he hooked both leashes in the hall before striding inside.

As soon as they stopped walking, Blurr collapsed; he sat with a soft thud, still deep within his panic. Cliffjumper joined him only a short second later; the minibot didn't protest when the taller mech huddled against him and buried a white faceplate against the crook of his neck. Instead, a red-plated hand patted the blue Elite Guards' back in a feeble attempt to calm him down.

Cliffjumper stared at the shaking mech; Blurr was still very young. Barely more than a sparkling, as far as he was concerned; the Elite Guard had only inducted the young bot in to the military for his unique skills. Had Blurr been a normal mech, he would have still been in boot camp. In fact, Cliffjumper surmised that he was about old enough to be Blurrs' creator.

Blurr was simply too young to have to suffer here; the minibot wrapped his other arm around the blue mech's frame. After several cycles, the shaking and trembling slowed; it took a moment longer to realize the speedster had actually slipped in to recharge.

A shadow fell over them; Cliffjumper looked up in alarm as a very large, bulky brown Decepticon shifted past. A spiked helm didn't give them so much as a glance; instead, the large mech turned to the hall opposite them and slid the tail end of a leash to a waiting hook. As the Decepticon turned again to walk through the double doors, a clawed servo stroked the helm of the bot tethered to the wall. A shudder ran through Cliffjumper as if he had been the one caressed.

As the door slid open to allow the large Decepticon entry, Shockwaves' voice slipped through. "..Attack on Sector Tallories can commence within a deca-cycle.." The door slid shut. With doubt that such minor information could ever be useful, Cliffjumper stored it away.

The hallway was large enough that he would likely not be heard by the other mech, so he simply stared with empathy. The red and white bot looked back with a deep sadness; with some alarm, Cliffjumper noticed that the Autobot insignia on the mech -- although scratched apart and almost gone -- had the telltale stripes of the Elite Guard.

After working with the Intelligence Division for nearly a century and a half, Cliffjumper knew the name and face of every mech and femme that worked for the Elite Guard over that period of time and from some time beforehand. However, he did not recognize this mech; he had to have been here for quite a long time.

The only real hope they had was that someone would notice they were missing and rescue them; if this Elite Guard had been here long enough to be forgotten, what good was that hope?

When Blurr woke up a short time later, Cliffjumper did not tell him what he had learned.

* * *

Long hours passed before Shockwave exited from the double doors. The tall Decepticon was visibly cheerful as he took hold of the leashes again and began to walk away; without much of a choice, the two Autobot prisoners followed.

Despite only having been there for a day, the corridor was recognizable; it was barely a few minutes before the door to Shockwaves' quarters opened in front of them. A deep shudder went through Blurrs' frame when he caught sight of the berth.

The only sound in the room was the Decepticons' humming as the collars were quietly snapped off. The thin metal bands were taken off and set aside on a shelf; both Autobots rubbed their throats as soon as they could.

"I will return shortly." Mirth lit a single, slitted optic as Shockwave turned and left the room. The door slid shut; neither Autobot attempted to open it.

Instead, Blurr whimpered and hung back; after a short few seconds, he sat down within one of the chairs by the window. The chaise had obviously been built for a much larger mech; it dwarfed the small Autobot within the widely set armrests.

For a long moment, Cliffjumper stared at the closed door. The normally natural, simple process of thinking seemed difficult to perform. He may have stood there for quite some time if Blurr hadn't begun to speak.

"Iwasthinking.." The speedster took in a deep, shaky intake. "IwasthinkingandIknowit'saverybadideabutIdon'tthinkwehavemuchofachoiceand.." He paused for a very brief second; it sent warning bells in Cliffjumpers' mind. "AndIwasthinkingmaybeifI.. DistractShockwave, maybehewon'teverhurtyouatall.."

Slowly, the red minibot turned to stare, optics wide.

"Imean, Shockwave'salreadyforcedmeto.. Andyouhavn'tbeenhurtlikethat.. MaybeifIjustkeephis.. Opticsonme.."

"Is your processor glitching?" Cliffjumper sputtered as he stared.

Blurr gulped, trembling slightly as he curled up on the long seat. "IfiguredifIkeptShockwave.. Interested.."

"_Interested_?!" The red minibot repeated, voice raising; he quickly made his way to Blurrs' side. "I am not going to have you.. _Seducing_ that slagger just to save my aft!"

"Cliffjumper --" Blurr frowned.

"No. Just, no." Cliffjumper scowled. "Don't you dare. I'd rather you give him the Pit than anything else. For Primus's sake, Blurr, just.. Frag it, just don't. Okay?"

A deep, depressed sigh came from Blurrs' intakes. Yet, he nodded slowly as he hugged his knees to his chest.

* * *

_I look for some hope_

_In every face, there's a vacant stare_

_The shadows come_

_But no one seems to care_

_The darkness floods _

_Every light that could promise change_

_The sheep are sound asleep_

_When the blood is stained;_

_The blood is pain_

_Somewhere, I know, that I'm not all alone_

_With this bated breath I hold_

_My lungs want to explode_

_A child to a man_

_Says only pure words that he can_

_He's too late; the man, he knows it_

_He said:_

_With all emotions set aside_

_In a whisper, say 'goodbye'_

-- "Real World", The All-American Rejects


	6. Chapter 6

Author notes: A slightly shorter chapter this time. I WANTED to include this scene THREE CHAPTERS ago, but it just.. Didn't happen. I don't know why these things run long when I actually type them. My brain, it's an evil thing, it is.

Also, it appears bbpuyo of deviantart is now my official illustrator. As I'm writing this all primarily for her, this pleases me. Go look at her scraps; it's aaalll there.

RESPOND TIME, YAY.

Thingwithnotalent: ..Your review disturbed me in a 'do people DO that?' fashion. I couldn't type at this at all for over a day because of it. o_o!

Sycophantism: I wasn't aware I was doing that. :D Yaaay~

Onyx17: I hope I can conflict your emotions more. :]

Blackmoondragon1415: Upon further research, yellow and blue paint jobs are REALLY common. One of my friends went: "Grapple?" and I was all: "..What? XD". Also, to your PS: ...Seaspray. :]

Lucy Sumeragui: TIME TRAVELER! *point!*

* * *

_Always here, always on time_

_Close call: Was it love, or was it just easy?_

_Silently, reflection turns my world to stone_

_Patiently, correction leaves us all alone_

_And sometimes, I'm a travel man_

_But tonight this engine's failing_

_I got the feeling that they're gonna break down the door_

_I got this feeling that they're gonna come back for more_

_See, I was thinking that I lost my mind_

_But it's been getting to me all this time_

_And it don't stop dragging me down!_

-- 'Tranquilize', The Killers

**Souvenir: Chapter Six**

* * *

Sometimes, Cliffjumper hated logic.

He had never been a particularly intellectual mech -- he had always been the sort ruled by emotion, even as a sparkling --, but his processor had been gifted with a rare sharpness. The ability to spot even the most miniscule detail coupled with an almost flawless memory was what got him his position in the first place. Not many could perform the duties a personal assistant to a Prime required; not half as well as he had been able to, at any rate, and none had held the position as long as he had.

So, being left to his thoughts naturally led to an almost unwanted analysis of the situation. The stronger emotional half of his being did not want to acknowledge what the logical half proclaimed; for quite a long while, the minibot argued with himself in the attempt to formulate some sort of plan.

Logic held no hope; in his time working in the Elite Guard, he had never heard of anything close to what was happening in the Decepticon flagship. The only conclusion, then, was that no bot had ever escaped to tell others about it; the odds, then, of not only himself, but his blue companion doing so dwindled to nearly zero.

Much like the day before, Cliffjumper sat and attempted to think. Unlike the previous solar cycle, Blurr did not pace; instead, the blue mech curled up on the large chaise, pale faceplate buried in his arms, shaking with visible depression.

The silence was suffocating. Yet, neither knew what to say to the other, so nothing was said at all. Cliffjumper desperately wanted to give the younger mech some hope -- a shred, at least -- but he simply did not know how; he barely held any himself. He couldn't even begin to address the situation in his own processor without panic.

Trackbacks' words came back to haunt him; the myriad of horrors that they had learned about in the past few hours promised nothing but pain for themselves. If Trackback was correct in the assumption that Shockwave 'took turns' -- the crude wording sent an unbidden shiver along his spinal column --, then, logically, it was his night.

In layman's terms, Cliffjumper was afraid; frightened and angry not only at Shockwave for all that he's done and will likely continue to do, but his own processor for compounding him with terror.

A sudden, shrill beeping caught both Autobots by surprise; the sound shook the two prisoners from worried reverie. Cliffjumper recognized the sound as the same alarm that had gone off after their initial capture; the same alarm clock that chimed a bare cycle before Shockwave had assaulted Blurr.

When the door slid open, the minibot was unsurprised. Blurr, however, shook worse at the sight of the towering Decepticon.

Shockwave barely glanced at the two silent bots. Instead, the shapeshifter turned his back to them both, single optic falling on a shelf against the wall. Datapads lined it from end to end; a claw hovered over the various titles in brief indecision. After a few seconds, one was chosen and extracted from the neatly arrayed lines; only then did he even acknowledge the two much smaller mechs, turning to stare at them with an unreadable expression.

The single slitted optic looked to Blurr; the speedster whimpered and scurried off the chair to get further away from his abductor. Shockwave did not attempt to follow the Elite Guard; instead, he sat back on the vacated lounge chair and activated the datapad in his claws.

For a moment, both Autobots could only stare in a dumbfounded stupor. It took a long few seconds for Blurr to relax enough to sit again; this time, he sat against the wall farthest away from the Decepticon. Cliffjumper shook in barely repressed rage and refused to vacate the other chair.

If Shockwave noticed the small attempt at rebellion, he gave no sign. Instead, he simply looked to the datapad, optic roving as he read what appeared to be a novel. Silence reigned save for the occasional soft digital clicks of the datapad itself.

An hour passed. Neither of the Autobots had dared to make a noise the entire time, although they had shared occasional glances of confused worry. It became a thoroughly awkward affair to have their torturer maintain such a casual hobby right next to them and neither had known how to react.

On the dot of the hours' end, the alarm bell sounded again.

Shockwave looked up at the noise with calm surprise. A pair of sharp claws tapped at the screen; the small device shut off as the shapeshifter stood. Only a few strides were needed to cross the distance between the sitting area and the shelf again; the datapad was returned back to its' original position.

Shockwave turned to stare at the Autobots. This time, the single optic roved slowly over the shaking Elite Guard and scowling secretary. What the Decepticon was doing became clear to both Autobots at the near simultaneous realization that the shapeshifter was actually leering; Blurr whimpered and slowly staggered to shaking pedes as Cliffjumper snarled.

The Decepticon gazed at them with the same indecision he gave to the shelf; mentally undressed their sparks in the attempt to decide which he would prefer more. After a tense moment, the slitted optic landed on a blue frame for a few seconds too long.

At once, Cliffjumper rushed off the seat to stand in front of Blurr. "Don't you dare, you sick --" He didn't get the chance to finish the insult.

Shockwave didn't even bother to walk towards the minibot; instead, his arm elongated itself, lurching forward to grab a crimson faceplate within sharp claws. Blinded by the servo over his optics, the minibot could only let out a surprised yelp as he was hurtled through the air.

Cliffjumper's back slammed in to the closet door; he twisted and flailed, struggling to dislodge the claw gripping him. Blurr shrieked in absolute panic, but the minibot was unable to see what was going on; all he felt was the door behind him slide open a bare second before Shockwave finally let him go. He fell inside and the door closed before he could hope to rush out.

Beyond the darkness of the closet and the horrific stench, Cliffjumper could hear Blurr screaming and pleading. Inwardly cursing at his own weakness, his fists pounded at the door with the same uselessness as the night before; despite knowing that the door would not open, he simply could not sit there and make no attempt to aid his friend.

He shouted and swore as his fists pounded at the door. Only when he could feel his hands leak and bleed did Cliffjumper stop, intakes coming in ragged pants; the minibot rested his helm against the closed door to allow his systems to cool.

There were still whimpers and sobs, but not the shrieks that been going on minutes before; Shockwave, it seemed, had won again.

For a brief moment, the former secretary wallowed in self pity, guilt and remorse. Then, he turned to face the corpse he would apparently spend another recharge cycle with. The lights of his vehicle mode flicked on; the headlights mounted on his chassis did not light the small enclosure much more than the bare minimum, but at least he could see.

The long offline, gray frame stared back. With a hiss at having to handle such a foul smelling thing, Cliffjumper hesitantly took hold of two sloped shoulders to push the body as far back as the closet allowed. As far as he was concerned, a few extra inches would be better than nothing.

With the way his vehicle mode was set on his frame, his headlights pointed downwards; if the light hadn't reflected off the metal floor, Cliffjumper may not have noticed the sudden shine from what should have been a dull, dusty body. His own optics flickered down in automatic reaction and promptly performed a double-take at the sight.

The dead mech held what appeared to be a small, glossed tag in his hands. Curious and somewhat disturbed, Cliffjumper gripped the card and slid it out of limp, gray fingers to get a better look.

It was an identification tag; the sort employees would wear. The glossy finish seemed to have protected it despite the years collecting dust; the information printed on it was as clear as the day it was issued.

A smiling picture of the dead mech -- an impish grin and a yellow paint job -- was such a startling difference from the corpse left behind that Cliffjumper couldn't help the deep frown. The minibot stared at the picture for a long moment; suddenly, the fact that the body had once been a living mech with a beating spark and mind became terribly significant. The dead minibot -- and the photograph did proclaim it was a minibot and not a sparkling -- had once held a name, a position, and possibly even a family.

With shaking servos, Cliffjumper traced the name on the card. _Hubcap.._

Then, he caught sight of an otherwise mundane detail; the expiration date of the card was nearly a thousand years gone. Logically, the poor mech must have been here before the card expired, either offline or imprisoned.

Headlights caught another shine. This time, it came from the corner. Cliffjumper had to shift around Hubcaps' corpse to reach the glittering plastic and was shocked at what he found; more identification tags. Half a dozen of them.

Each of the small cards represented a spark, processor and frame that had been within Shockwaves' clutches. With growing horror, Cliffjumper realized that each and every one of them -- although color, gender and even position of power differed -- was a minibot. Almost all shared his very protoform mold.

"Holy frag." The red minibot swore with shocked, wide optics. He looked to the names on the rest of the cards, unwittingly recording them to memory.

_Hubcap, Volks, Tap-Out, Carerra, Windcharger, Fallback._

They had left their identities behind; a last, final remnant of who they had been. Likely, it was all that was left of them and the only sign that they had ever existed here at all. Perhaps, Cliffjumper decided, if he could ever escaped or send back a message, a proper monument could be set up for them.

Slowly, Hubcaps' card was set atop the rest of the pile. As the shocked realization that Shockwave had a history of such abuse and an obvious fascination with minibots, a horrid shudder ran along a crimson frame.

A sudden jolt of terrified doubt sprang up; six had been here and had never seen freedom again. Shaking, Cliffjumper reached in to his subspace pocket and pulled out his own Elite Guard tag. He gazed at it for several seconds.

Then, he set it atop the pile.

* * *

_Acid rain, when Abel looked up at Cain_

_We began the weeping and wailing_

_A hurried high from pestilence, pills and pride_

_It's a shame; we could have gone sailing_

_But heaven knows, heaven knows everything_

_Tranquilize!_

_We're the ones who still believe_

_And we're looking for a page_

_In that lifeless book of hope_

_Where a dream might help you cope_

-- 'Tranquilize', The Killers


	7. Chapter 7

Author Notes: ..Oh, ffnet hates me. I know it does. It's just come to my attention that almost ALL dialogue with Blurr when it's a run-on has been cut out? Why, I don't know. Maybe they think it's a website link. Who knows. SO. If you want the actual complete stuff WITH BLURR DIALOGUE, note me or something.

..Also, this is why this chapter has Blurr speaking in normal sentences. Because it'd get cut out otherwise.

*fistshakes at ffnet*

RESPOND TIME.

JJStar: My brain sometimes changes things. I just don't argue with it. I just put down what my brain shows me. And, yes, Shockwave, to me, is VERY creepy.

Thing With No Talent: ..But.. But that doesn't even.. ... I'm confused. D:

Lucy Sumeragui: *noms cookies from the future* This, mayhaps, explains the preference.

Blackmoondragon: The way I see it, Shockwave is one of Megatrons' most trusted and most loyal high-ranking soldiers. I assume he'd just get extra perks over the centuries.

* * *

_I know I'd better stop trying_

_You know that there's no denying_

_I won't show mercy on your now_

_I know I should stop believing_

_I know there's no retrieving_

_It's over now_

_What have you done?_

_Why, why does fate make us suffer?_

_There's a curse between us_

_Between me and you_

-- 'What Have You Done', Within Temptation

**Souvenir: Chapter Seven**

* * *

The clock proclaimed that it was far too early to be awake. The backlit digits against the octangular metal mount wouldn't chime again for at least two more hours. Upon this realization, Blurr prayed that this would not be the start of a dreadful pattern; the second night in a row to be forced in to recharge through pain and terror only to wake up hours too soon.

The Elite Guard shifted miserably underneath the resting behemoth; Shockwave wasn't exactly a lightly framed mech and, even in recharge, prohibited the speedster from twitching more than a few inches in any direction. Nevertheless, the attempt was made; for the moment, Blurr wanted nothing more than to get as far away from the shapeshifter as possible.

A very soft hiss sounded off; it was recognized instantly.

"Unable to rest again, are we?" A soft, slow mumble came from the Decepticon.

Relying on knowledge from the night before allowed Blurr to be completely unsurprised that Shockwave woke up. Still, the speedster trembled. A myriad of emotions churned within his processor; pain, fear, a hate deeper that he had ever felt before alongside a strange, twisted sense of betrayal that he didn't fully understand.

The hate overrode the natural need for self preservation. "Why are you doing this?!" It wasn't quite a yell; the volume barely rose above the standard speaking level. "Why did you take me away from everything I've ever known only to _do this_ to me?! Why didn't you just kill me in the security trap?! You had a chance to offline me and I would have been a frag of a lot better off than _this!_" As the words left him, Blurrs' intakes heaved and clicked.

For far longer than the cerulean mech could handle, Shockwave said nothing. The cyclops lifted himself enough to peer down with a single, slitted optic for several long seconds. A sharply pointed claw gently caressed the side of a white faceplate; the trembling increased.

"It would have been such a waste." Shockwave somehow seemed to smile; wonder was held within the soft, pleased tone as his claw continued to stroke his captives' face. "You are beautiful. A custom-built frame, as well, isn't it? You are one of a kind and unique. It would have been such a waste to end you."

Hands the shade of porcelain clenched at Blurrs' sides; he had the unsettling urge to punch the Decepticon in the face. He barely held himself from doing so in the knowledge that, if he did, he would likely suffer dearly for it. The Elite Guard grit his dentals as the deep, horrid rage grew within his spark; the sheer loathing he felt took over all else. He tensed, about to evoke obscenities, when a faint shuffling came from a short distance away; something was shifting in the berthside closet.

With a sharp suddenness, Blurr remembered that he wasn't alone.

"If you had such a sick fascination for the body Perceptor and Wheeljack built for me, why did you kidnap Cliffjumper?!" This time, Blurr kept his voice as low as possible. If the red minibot was still within recharge, he did not want to wake him. "Why couldn't you just leave him back on Cybertron and left him alone!?"

The slitted optic flickered once. Shockwave appeared to consider the question. "He was there. There was no reason _not_ to take him."

Blurr openly gaped. The response was so outrageous in its' simplicity that, for a moment, all words left the quick-minded mech. "You.. You..!" A hostile, static-filled hiss left him. The only word that came to mind that encompassed everything Shockwave was to the young Autobot came in a cry. "You.. Sick _monster!_"

Shockwave chuckled, amused, as he pinned the blue mech with his own frame. "Monster? Well.. I've been called worse."

* * *

By the fourth day, both Autobots had memorized their new schedule. Shockwave, for all the cruelty and malice he possessed, adhered to a strict timetable. Their self-proclaimed master never deviated from the chiming of the clock; every nanoklik of every solar cycle became precisely the same.

For reasons neither one could completely understand, Blurr was at the receiving end of every single one of the shapeshifters' lust-filled endeavors; as the evening hours rolled about, the speedster was always the one chosen to sleep atop the berth. Of course, Cliffjumper simply couldn't allow it to go on without some sort of resistance; the red minibot quickly became accustomed to the stench of Hubcaps' offline corpse.

Blurr wasn't told of the stash of identification tags in the closet; Cliffjumper simply couldn't bring himself to tell him.

On the ninth day, Cliffjumper guessed the password correctly. As soon as the screen passed from the seemingly unbreakable login box to that of a simple desktop, the first real flare of hope sprang up within the minibots' spark. He had expected the miniscule attempt at escape to take months if it worked at all; it was nothing short of miraculous that it occurred this quickly.

A quick glance at the clock proclaimed it would still be well over ten minutes more before Shockwave and Blurr came out of the washracks. Unwilling to waste time, the email program was quickly found; he typed faster than he had ever had in his life.

Red-plated fingers swam across the keyboard; he simply did not have the time to put in every individual email that he wanted to, so an automatic mass address was put in instead. Every Autobot ranked Prime and above would receive it. Granted, those like Optimus Prime and non-military personnel would get hold of it, but there was simply no other way around it; beggars could not be choosers.

Stellar cycles of working as a personal assistant aided him now; the simple skill of typing had been honed to a fine art and the message was laid in quickly. By the time the ordinarily innocuous words of 'message sent' came upon the screen, Cliffjumper was shaking profusely.

Hope did not damper paranoia; he knew that if Shockwave so much as suspected what he had done, he would almost certainly be killed -- or worse. The minibot opened tab after tab in the system docket, deleting and purging any sign that the email had ever been in there at all. Only when he was absolutely certain that nothing was left behind did he finally have it in him to log out of the console.

Cliffjumpers' intakes came in quick and fast; the login box was on the screen again. It was as if he had never gotten in. A glance at the clock told him he still had several minutes to spare; with a deep breath, the minibot collapsed on a chair and tried to calm down.

When the door to the washracks opened and Shockwave emerged, the shapeshifter barely gave the console a second glance.

* * *

It wasn't until Shockwave locked them in his quarters to go wherever it was he went for those couple of hours every day that Cliffjumper felt it was safe to tell Blurr what had happened. Being within in their captors' presence for the majority of their time held the risk that anything they said to each other could be overheard; now that the Decepticon was gone -- where he went was entirely unknown --, it was the closest to privacy they would likely ever get.

After several days of captivity, the small lounge by the window became a comfort zone; both the small sofa-seat and long chaise were individually large enough to sit them both with room to spare. Although Cliffjumper had once been unwilling to so much as sit too close to another bot on public transportation vessels, he now often held the taller Elite Guard as he whimpered, wept and sometimes even slept.

The previous night had been particularly harsh; despite Shockwaves' incessant need to bathe Blurr after his nightly torture, there were still visible scuff marks and the loss of paint along the rim of his spark chamber.

"Blurr.." Cliffjumper held the miserable blue mech with the same care a small sparkling would require. "Blurr, something happened this morning."

Blurr looked up with nothing short of panic; naturally, he assumed the worst. "What, what happened, are you okay?!"

"I got the password right." Now, the twinge of a smile lit Cliffjumpers' face; the first in a very long time. "On the slaggers' communication center. I sent an email this morning to HQ."

Dull blue optics brightened at the news; after a brief moment, a wide grin crossed Blurrs' face. Then, blue arms wrapped around the smaller minibot in a tight embrace. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.. I didn't even know you found a way to do anything or were even trying to do anything or had the opportunity --"

"I didn't want to get your hopes up. I thought it'd take months." Cliffjumper gently patted the younger mechs' back. "And it was.. When you were in the washracks. I think the console only turns on when the fraggers' in here."

Tremors shook Blurrs' frame; it took a moment for the minibot to realize that the speedsters' intakes were releasing soft hiccups. "..Blurr..?"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you..!"

The sheer joy along Blurrs' faceplate maintained for nearly the entire time they were alone; only when Shockwaves' return near did they have to force themselves back in to a now false depression.

* * *

_Would you mind if I killed you?_

_Would you mind if I tried to?_

_'Cause you have turned in to my worst enemy_

_You carry hate that I feel_

_It's over now_

_What have you done?_

_I will not fall_

_Won't let it go_

_We will be free when it ends_

-- 'What Have You Done', Within Temptation


	8. Chapter 8

Author notes: This chapter takes a slight detour. Your regularly scheduled programming will return next chapter. ;)

..This chapter took a while. I don't know why; things just didn't mesh right in my head. *shrug* Oh well.

RESPOND TIME, YAY.

.machina: Yeah, it's gonna get worse before it gets better. *grins evilly* I.. Have no idea how long this thing will end up being.

Tugera: My brain refuses to tell me what Shockwaves' password was, but that it was either a random set of numbers and letters, or something really, really silly.

Aisling13: I assumed the Autobots aren't so incompetent as to allow a revealed double-agent spy access to their higher level systems. XD I imagine as soon as Shockwave was found out, he was locked out of the system. ... Or, at least, I'm assuming that for sake of this plot.

Onyx17: It ain't ending any time soon. :D

Lucy Sumeragui: CAKE. TIME-TRAVEL CAKE. YES. *nom*

Blackmoondragon: You will see where Shockwave goes during that time every day... Eventually. Maybe. ... I intend to reveal it in a few chapters, but my brain keeps changing things. SO, WE'LL SEE.

* * *

_Everybody's got their problems_

_Everybody says the same thing to you_

_It's just a matter how you solve them_

_And knowing how to change the things you've been through_

_I fear I've come to realize_

_How fast life can be compromised_

_Stand back to see what's going on_

_I can't believe this happened to you_

_This happened to you_

-- 'The Hell Song', Sum 41

**Souvenir: Chapter Eight**

* * *

The digital metronome chimed twelve times before a pair of bleary blue optics onlined. Lethargy prohibited understanding for the moment and the red and gold mech simply couldn't understand what was making the noise; for several long, tired minutes, all he could do was stare.

The holographic display hovered above the regulation desk and sounded off in time to every digital flicker. The icon -- dimly, he recognized it as the typical 'mail' symbol -- flashed seven more times before he realized it was flashing blue instead of the usual yellow; it only displayed that color for certain messages.

Of course, he could simply check the message later; there was no rule that said he had to read it as soon as he received it. Still, the chimes persisted and clamored for attention; reluctantly, the mech slid out of his warm and comfortable berth and shuffled to the desk.

The small communication console was turned on with a single button press; the holographic display shut off as the other system took over its' functions. Blearily, the red and gold mech considered waking himself with a tall mug of oil as the email system opened on the screen.

Oil quickly became unnecessary as he looked over the message; his systems snapped to attention as he roved over the email. "What in Cybertron..?"

The entire message was in code. He couldn't quite figure it out; the only part of the message that wasn't typed in a bizarre amalgamation of letters and numbers was the very start of it, displayed in bold and capslock and vehemently ordering the recipients not to reply.

After several minutes of confusion, his fuel tanks let out an unhappy rumble. With a deep frown, the mech copied the email to a portable datapad and took it with him; at the moment, he was stationed on a small craft and did not have to go far to get to the small kitchen. After a short few cycles, he sat back with a cube of energon and continued to stare at the message. As he mused, he caught sight of another bot walking in from the corner of his vision.

"Hey, boss." A bulky red mech sauntered past and headed for the energon dispenser. "A bit early for ya, ain't it?"

"Morning, Ironhide." A slight shrug was given. "Just a bit, I guess."

"Somethin' wrong?" Ironhide drawled cheerfully as he filled a cube of his own.

"Knowing my luck, it's probably nothing." The red and gold mech -- Rodimus Prime -- shrugged benignly as he scrolled up and down the datapad. "Probably a prank."

The Prime was so focused on the enigma before him that he didn't even notice his comrade stepping behind him and peering over his shoulder. "Is that secretarial shorthand?"

Rodimus stopped in nothing short of absolute bafflement. "Secretarial shorthand?" It took a brief moment more for what was actually said to properly settle in his processor as he glanced back. "Wait, you can read this? How do you know how to read this?"

An amused, slightly ashamed smirk crossed Ironhides' faceplate. "Uh.. Had a roommate back on th' farm studyin' this stuff. Helped him out a bit."

Rodimus raised a brow at the red-plated mech before holding out the datapad. "Can you read what this thing says, then?"

"Sure." Ironhide grinned as he took the small electronic device; as his optics roved over the message, the impish expression devolved in to a deeply troubled frown. Metal brows furrowed as the silence stretched on.

It was all so unlike the usually boisterous mech that worry quickly formed within Rodimus's frame. "Ironhide?"

"Uh.." Blue optics did not look up from the email. "..Boss, I think we aughta call.. Uh, everyone, probably, on this.."

* * *

"So." Red Alert grumbled as she hung up the comm. "Since we're the only bunch of idiots that actually got that email translated, we're now in charge of formulating and executing any plan involved with it." The femme folded her arms and sat back, shaking her head. "Fraggin' idiocy, I swear.."

"Probably a Decepticon trap." Brawn, if possible, was even less enthusiastic than the medic as he sipped a mug of oil. "It's a time-waster, is what it is."

"We.. We ain't sure about that." Ironhide was still visibly perturbed as he glanced from the datapad in his servos to his teammates. "If this thing's real, this is big stuff. This 'Cliffjumper' bot probably risked his life!"

"We already know that this Cliffjumper was reported missing three solar cycles before we all found out about Shockwave." Rodimus took a deep intake as he leaned against a wall. "It's possible that Shockwave wasn't the only traitor."

"The email said there'd be an attack in Sector Tallories --" Ironhide began.

"There's nothing _in_ Sector Tallories." Brawn interrupted with a snort. "Just a fraggin' astroid belt. One that _moves_, even."

"That's not entirely true, actually.." Rodimus frowned deeply as he glanced to his team. "There's _is_ an old space bridge there. Very old. One of the first." At the surprise that crossed multiple faceplates, he held up his servos in a placating manner. "I didn't know it still existed, either, until I checked on it a megacycle ago. I have to admit, I wouldn't have even thought about it if it wasn't for the email."

"What, so.. It's real? Everything in there?" Hot Shot stared at his superior in disbelief. "That there's Autobot _slaves_ that no one knew about? I've seen more believable horror vids!"

"Those horror vids are perfectly reasonable." Brawn responded with a completely deadpan tone; annoyance lit his optics as he took another sip of oil. "I frequently worry about getting murdered as I recharge by a bot who was smelted down but is still somehow able to haunt people with his spark through his continuing bitterness, rage, and clawed gardening servos."

Red Alert snorted and shook her head. Hot Shot let out a bark of laughter.

Rodimus sighed at the minibot. "Quit the sarcasm. This is serious."

"If it's true." Brawn shrugged. "Still sounds like a trap to me."

"It just.. It don't make sense." Ironhide frowned. "Why would they send a message in secretarial shorthand? Almost nobody bothered t'translate it but us."

"Ironhide's right." The Prime glanced over his team once more. "If there really is a bot being held by Decepticons and asking for our help, we have to at least make the effort to see if this has any credence or not." A deep intake was taken and released. "Let's make some calls and see if any other groups want to come along to Sector Tallories."

* * *

The evening hours hadn't even begun when the blue mail icon flashed again. This time, the message did not appear to be from a Decepticon address or mass sent to multiple recipients; instead, it came directly from the Autobot Security Sector. It held a blank message and an attached video file.

Slightly dubious, the Prime of the space bridge security crew brought the file to a larger screen and called the rest of his team. If the security sector sent it, it must have been related to their current case.

Brawn mumbled incoherently as the video file opened; at the grainy image that flashed on the screen, he let out a snort. "The slag is this?"

"Looks like one of the really old cameras got something." Hot Shot shrugged. "Wonder why the newer cameras didn't."

"Shockwave must have deactivated or deleted anything on the other cameras." Red Alert mused aloud.

For the first half minute of the somewhat grainy, silent footage, all that was on the screen was a red minibot taking calls at a desk. Earlier investigated files told the security crew that this was none other than Cliffjumper himself; it appeared he was simply performing his duties as secretary.

After several seconds of nothing of importance occurring on the screen, Brawn opened his mouth to complain again; before he could form actual sound, the minibots' visage stiffened and openly gaped at the monitor he had been handling.

"He saw somethin'.." Ironhide frowned deeply. "Ya think he found out 'bout Shockwave here?"

"If that's it, why didn't he call anyone?" Brawn queried, the first outward sign that he was taking the situation seriously.

As the question passed with no answer, Longarm Prime appeared on screen. With the way the camera had been positioned, they could not get a clear glance of the undercover agents' face, but they could see the stark panic on the red minibot as the small mech slowly stood. On screen, a red-plated arm twitched.

"He's.. Pressing th' panic button." Ironhide gaped.

"Which lets the Prime of that sector know there's a problem." Rodimus moaned, covering his face with a hand. "Ironically, it's a security measure against counter-intelligence."

"Guess it didn't help -- Woah!" Hot Shot yelped as he caught sight of Longarms' namesake appendage flying out to grab the minibots' faceplate before the smaller bot could move.

The limb did not stop moving even as it clutched its' prey; it kept moving until it violently slammed a red helm in to the wall behind the desk. Despite the lack of audio, they all winced as if the thunderous cry of metal against metal had been clear. The wall -- and, likely, the helm that was slammed against it -- was clearly dented as the hand let go and the body crumpled to the floor.

On screen, Longarm Prime casually stepped around the desk and strolled towards the unconscious Cliffjumper. A stabilizing servo nudged at the body; it did not move. With a careless shrug, the undercover Decepticon took a few extra steps back and towards a hatch on the wall; it opened automatically as he neared it and peered inside.

"Is that the incinerator?" Red Alert boggled; shocked disgust crossed her faceplate at sudden realization. "He was going to toss a _live bot_ in to the _incinerator?!_"

"Look." Brawn appeared just as shocked as the medic. "There's no smoke. The incinerator wasn't even on."

"Probably saved his life." Ironhide practically whispered.

As the image of Longarm Prime appeared to come to the conclusion that the incinerator was, in fact, not functioning, he stepped back and shook his head. After a moment of thought, he stepped back towards the minibot on the floor and bent down to inspect the body; slowly, Longarm straddled the smaller frame and gripped both sides of an unconscious helm.

The cameras' position and the new stance allowed a clear, straight view of the perverse, lecherous grin that crossed Longarm Primes' face and the strange, sickening kiss upon the unconscious mech that followed.

Silence reigned as they stared at the screen; shock, disgust and horror brewed at these new revelations and what they insinuated.

"..Spark slaves." Rodimus realized with deep shock. "The Decepticons have Autobot spark slaves."

No one said a word as Longarm Prime lifted himself from the minibot and lifted the smaller frame in to his arms. Even as he left the room entirely and the camera recorded nothing, no one stopped the video.

It took a long moment more -- and for the file to stop on its' own -- for anyone to speak at all.

"I think I would've preferred th' incinerator." Ironhide sputtered.

* * *

_It's just a problem that we're faced with_

_Am I not the only one who hates to stand by?_

_Complication's headed first in this line_

_With all these pictures running through my mind_

_Knowing endless consequences_

_I feel so useless in this_

_Can't patch that back_

_And, as for me, I can't believe_

-- 'The Hell Song', Sum 41


	9. Chapter 9

Author notes: I'm tempted to label this a PWP chapter. I have no other reasonable explanation for this.

Warnings: Oh, yeah. Everything. Just.. Every warning possible. Slap it on there. Yeeeeah.

As always, for Puyo. Although, this particular chapter is also for Deathcomes4u. ;)

* * *

_From the top to the bottom_

_(Bottom to top, I stop)_

_At the core, I've forgotten_

_(In the middle of my thoughts)_

_Taken far from my safety_

_(The picture's there)_

_The memory won't escape me.._

_We're stuck in a place so dark_

_You can hardly see_

_The manner of matter that splits_

_With the words I breathe_

_And as the rain drips acidic questions around me_

_I block out the sight of the powers that be_

_And duck away in to the darkness_

_(Times' up)_

_I wind up in a rusted world _

_With eyes shut_

_So tight that it blurs in to the world of pretend_

_And the eyes ease open and it's dark again_

-- 'Frgt/10', Linkin Park

**Souvenir: Chapter Nine**

* * *

When the shrill, digital alarm bell rang to herald Shockwaves' return, the two captive Autobots had been prepared. Rather, they were as prepared as they ever had been since their nightmare began; after several days of the shapeshifting Decepticons' strict schedule, their struggles had been reduced to a practically choreographed routine. It appeared that Shockwave never deviated from the events timed by that aggravating alarm bell; the days never changed.

Their self-proclaimed master would return exactly thirty seconds after the bell chimed. Once he did, he spent precisely half a megacycle reading recreationally; always a novel from the same shelf despite a myriad of options. When the bell chimed again, the novel was returned to that exact same position amongst its' brethren.

Then, the real battle would begin.

That single, slitted optic always leered over their furious and shivering frames; the almost demonically shaded faceplate would linger for brief nanokliks between the blue and red mechs before him. Without fail over the past eight nights, it would always eventually land on a cerulean paint job for several seconds too long.

A fight always erupted; the crimson Autobot simply refused to back down when that great, clawed servo would grab at thin, blue arms. Blurr always screamed; Cliffjumper always wound up with the corpse.

Naturally, as the novel was once again returned to its' place on that ninth night, they assumed it would all occur in exactly the same format. Their horrific situation had become a terrible new normal in its' predictability; Cliffjumper had already stepped in front of Blurr in a futile, symbolic attempt to protect him as Shockwave turned to face them.

Silence reigned as it always did. Blurr trembled, but had long since regained enough of himself to glare furiously at their abuser. Although Cliffjumper often snarled, he now simply grit his dentals at the tense wait.

Shockwave glanced from one small mech to the next; it wasn't until his roving optic stopped moving entirely did the fury within the two Autobots ebb in to a deep, unsettled shock. The surprise was brief and only lasted a moment, but the knowledge that came with it -- that something had shifted in the routine -- allowed the fear to blossom in to a level not felt since the very first night.

The shapeshifters' gaze had landed on the wrong frame for too long; the slitted optic stared at Cliffjumper.

"Oh, _slag_." The red minibot swore.

Blurr pulled back in shock as, for the first time, a clawed servo clutched a red-plated arm instead of his own. "No!" He rushed forward to strike the much larger bot. "Let him go, don't hurt him, don't --" He yelped as Shockwaves' free claw gripped his throat.

"Is this going to become a habit?" The Decepticon sighed. The claw on Cliffjumper was released, but only to push the red minibot with enough force to knock him to the floor. As he did so, he began to make his way towards the closet.

Why he hadn't bothered to restrain the former secretary as he locked away the Elite Guard within the closet wasn't clear; perhaps he simply considered the smaller bot less of a threat.

As the closet door slid shut, Blurr wailed his fellow captives' name and pounded on the door.

"Now, then." Shockwave turned. "Let's --" The Decepticon had the split-second view of a small, red frame rushing at him clutching something in his servos before a heavy, blunt instrument met his face.

Cliffjumper didn't make a sound as he brought the instrument in his hands back for another pass; he had to leap to properly strike the cyclopian helm and managed to land another blow. Then, a cloven pede struck his abdomen and sent him flying halfway across the room; the solid, metal bust of Megatron that had been his makeshift weapon flew in a different direction.

Shockwave growled and clutched his head as he stood; a thin trail of pink fluid leaked from below his sensory antenna. He glared at the scurrying minibot before rushing forward with outstretched claws.

The crimson mech ran for the shelf with the intent to grab the other decorative bust; claws wrapped around his leg before he could make it; fingers gripped a datapad on the end of the shelf instead. As he was pulled towards the aggravated shapeshifter, he brought the thin metal device between brambled sensory horns with as much strength as he had.

The datapad broke apart after the first blow; he barely had the time to register the break in the electronic device before he was suddenly lifted in the air and slammed upon the berth. A shaken processor swam for a moment; long enough for a much larger mech to settle atop him.

"You are a feisty one, aren't you?" Shockwave purred.

Cliffjumper snarled and twisted underneath the purple frame. Turbid, terrified panic lit up every urge of fight or flight; for a moment, nothing but mindless fear spread through him as that large optic peered down bare inches from his own. With nothing left to defend himself with, he brought up his bare servos and clawed at the slitted red pupil before him.

Shockwave roared and pulled back as metal met the sensitive glass; yet, he still straddled the smaller mech. Despite his squirming, Cliffjumper couldn't break free from the heavy body holding him down; the large Decepticon covered his optic for several seconds before glaring down with an expression that promised violence.

An arm elongated itself towards the second berthside closet. The sounds of trinkets being moved about echoed for several seconds; the arm returned with a set of handcuffs clutched within large talons.

The minibot struggled but simply did not have the power to fight off the large servos grabbing his own. The cuffs -- not stasis cuffs, a dim portion of his processor noted, but standard, old-fashioned metal handcuffs -- easily wrapped around his wrists before being strung through a looped piece of metal at the head of the berth. The twisted metal could only be there just for that purpose.

He had known that this would happen eventually. There had simply been no other reason for Shockwave to keep him alive this long. Yet, expectation and mental preparation did nothing to ease the fear; in fact, the knowledge only heightened the terror.

Restrained and unable to move, the former secretary shut his optics down; he knew from Blurrs' cries over the past several nights that what Shockwave intended to do would certainly hurt and he braced himself for the pain.

Shockwave let out a slight chuckle but did not open the minibots' spark chamber. Instead, he settled upon the smaller frame, chestplate against chestplate.

Cliffjumper hadn't expected this; he onlined his optics in terrified confusion, unsure why his spark wasn't under assault.

Claws were trailing his frame, gently following seam lines and touching places the minibot did not want them to touch. The unexpected molestation sent frightened shivers along his spinal column. "_What are you doing?!_"The yelped query came out seconds before Shockwaves' faceplate met his own.

Something was on his mouth; it felt as if the Decepticons' mouth was on his own, but with no clear visual of where Shockwaves' mouth actually was, Cliffjumper couldn't be certain. He was, however, certain that something was, in fact, there -- and he was thoroughly disturbed by it. It wasn't until several seconds in to the bizarre, frightening ordeal and a thin appendage slid in to his mouth -- a glossa, he realized -- did he conclude that Shockwave was, in fact, somehow kissing him.

The shock snapped apart as their glossa met; his struggles became more fierce, bucking in the attempt to throw the heavy mech off. With his hands restrained, he wasn't able to put up more than a symbolic resistance. Legs kicked uselessly against the torment.

After several long, torturous minutes of maltreatment, nimble claws traced the metal above a small spark chamber. The gentle caress abruptly ended with a single motion as the small hatches were snapped apart; Cliffjumper was unable to stop his own pained cries as the protective metal was torn and his delicate center laid bare.

The metal around Shockwaves' spark chamber slid apart with a soft hiss; as the minibot caught sight of the aggressors' glowing life-force, his optics widened in abject horror. There was very little wonder why Blurr had been yelling the way he had the past few nights; it would be a miracle if the Decepticons' spark even _fit_ against his own. The spark alone was easily the size of his entire chest.

His intakes came in short and ragged; there was sudden doubt that he would even survive the night, let alone do so in one piece. Shockwave moved slowly, as if to prolong the terror he must have known his prisoner was in the depths of, gradually setting the two sparks against each other.

Cliffjumper screamed through his dentals; the larger spark almost didn't fit and all but engulfed the other. Shockwaves' servos continued to leisurely run against his frame, rapine movements unceasing despite the attack on his very core; nanokliks passed before he pulled his spark back ever so slightly only to ram back inside with a ravaging thrust

The harsh meeting of spark against spark generated a crackle of power as well as a wild, horrid shriek. The world spun with nothing but pain; it cleared just in time to see and feel it happen again. As time progressed with a slow, languid leak of one cycle to the next, the build up of electrical energy and the very essence behind what powers a spark reached a level the smaller frame wasn't able to withstand; as the smaller spark dispelled as much of the excess power as it could in a fit of overload, Cliffjumper let out a pained yowl.

For a very brief moment, he was almost free of the pain. If the other spark had not still been atop his own, the lack of energy with him may have even been pleasant. Instead, the stabbing pain renewed itself as Shockwave continued his course; the Decepticon let out a pleasured moan as the effects of the overload went through his systems.

In the back of a frenzied mind, Cliffjumper knew it wouldn't end until Shockwave achieved overload as well; his spark quailed in terror even as the energies built up again in preparation for a second discharge.

By the third overload, Cliffjumper could no longer scream, reduced to gangled cries and thin whimpers. After that, they were farther between, his entire being simply too exhausted to continue at the vicious pace. Still, the energy had to be cast out and there simply was no other way to do it.

By the fourth overload, his vocalizer could no longer emit any sound at all. By the fifth, he no longer had the strength to move; he could do nothing more than stare at the ceiling when Shockwaves' undefined lips weren't dominating his own. Despite it all, he was still aware, the continuous assault unwilling to let him pass in to stasis.

In the back of his processor, he wondered if this was what Blurr had suffered every night, wailing soundlessly in the depths of the Pit.

It took two more exhausted, painful overloads -- and nearly two hours since their sparks had first met -- for Shockwave to finally reach his limit. The acute purge of the much more powerful spark overtook everything else; it was an all-consuming agony the likes of which he had never felt before. Existence lit aflame for the brief, anguished moment.

Then, the nothingness Cliffjumper desired finally came at last.

* * *

_In the memory, you'll find me_

_Eyes burning up_

_The darkness holding me tightly_

_Until the sun rises up_

_A window grows, captures the eye_

_And cries out a yellow light as it passes me by_

_And a young shadowy figure sits in front of a box_

_Inside a building of rocks with antennas on top_

_Now, nothing can stop in this land of the pain_

_The sane lose not knowing they were part of the game_

_And while the inside's changed_

_The box stays the same_

_And the figure inside could bear anybody's name_

-- 'Frgt/10', Linkin Park


	10. Chapter 10

Author notes: The Thanksgiving weekend messed up with my writing times. XD That, and Black Friday sales. I SHOPPED on that day for the first time ever this year. It was crazy. :D

Hopefully, after this chapter, I can have some faster time progression in this. Seriously, day ten on chapter ten? Even I'm going WTF at myself.

RESPOND TIME!

JJStar: I needed a translation to read your review. It made me feel old.

Tugera: I giggled at the end of your review. XD 'That sounds so unbearable! ..Nice!'.

Blackmoondragon: ...Yes.

To everyone favoriting and commenting on bbpuyo's illustrations for this: Why aren't you reviewing here?! Reviews help my muses! Even flames and critique helps my muses! HELP MY MUSES, YOU PEOPLE! *fistshake*

* * *

_Liar! Killer! Demon!_

_Back to the river Aras!_

_Someone's blank stare deemed it warfare_

_Liar! Killer! Demon!_

_Back to the river Aras!_

_Freedom.. Freedom.._

_We're free.._

_We're free.._

-- 'Holy Mountains', System of a Down

**Souvenir: Chapter Ten**

* * *

The first thing Cliffjumper became aware of was that his own systems were very angry with him. Despite the fact that his optics were not yet online, flashing lights and text crossed his barely conscious vision with warnings that were almost mocking in nature; he had been drained to almost critical levels, it seemed, and had acquired multiple injuries as well. His own processor may as well have been saying that whatever he had done had been incredibly stupid and to never, ever do it again.

The memory of what precisely happened came slowly; only when his optics flashed online to reveal the grand view of a flat slate gray ceiling and a brambled antler-esque sensory antenna did recollection come crashing down. Once it did, wide blue optics darted about wildly.

His hands were still handcuffed to the head of the berth; the rest of him was still pinned underneath a large violet and black chassis. Nearly no part of him was exposed to the air of the room save for his helm; an elongated faceplate was even buried in the crook of his neck. The position was sickeningly similar to what a lover would have had.

A slow tremble began to form along the minibots' frame; Cliffjumper glanced briefly to the recharging Decepticon only to make certain he hadn't woken from his shaking. Then, he shuttered his optics again and tried very hard to think of anything other than where he was.

It didn't take long to fail in this endeavor, especially as Shockwave shifted in recharge.

Nine solar cycles had been spent bracing himself for this moment. Yet, now that he was here and had -- much to his surprise -- survived it, he found he did not know how to feel. Granted, the ever present fear and anger that had stalked him since his capture were still there, but the realization that he had actually been through spark assault and may very well experience it again seemed unapproachable.

He had heard that many bots, mech and femme alike, that had experienced such an attack claimed to feel filthy; as if they had been marked with a stain they could not remove. Blurr had told him after that very first night that he had felt the same way. Cliffjumper wasn't entirely certain why, but he found that he didn't feel marked or dirty; instead, he simply felt overwhelming disgust and fury towards Shockwave. Perhaps, a part of his processor mused, his anger protected him; perhaps he was in shock.

A soft click broke his musing; optics flashed alight in renewed panic, looking around once more for the source of the noise. A second click -- followed faintly by what sounded suspiciously like an intake hiccup -- came again. A nanoklik later, Cliffjumper realized the noises came from the berthside closet.

The clicks and hiccups continued; Cliffjumper could only stare with a deeply saddened realization at the closed door. The noises were tantamount to sobbing; Blurr was crying in the closet.

The minibot wanted to call out and console the caged speedster but didn't dare make a sound. He shuddered to think what Shockwave might do if he woke up early; his internal chronometor claimed there was less than an hour until the Decepticon would awaken. He could wait.

Perhaps, he hoped, he could comfort Blurr while the monster was in the washracks.

* * *

When the closet door slid open, Blurr literally tumbled out. Despite several mornings of listening for the tell-tale hiss of sliding metal, he had never had the sense to pay attention to exactly when it occurred; he simply hadn't expected the door to open. If he had, he likely wouldn't have been leaning against it.

The chains around his pedes made getting back upright a somewhat tricky venture; it took several frustratingly long nanokliks to perform the ordinarily simple procedure of getting up. Once he did and was able to take in the world past fading lethargy, he openly gaped at what met him.

"Cliffjumper! Oh, Primus!" The speedster rushed forward as quickly as the chain-link allowed to grab at the handcuffs. "Oh, Primus, I'm so sorry, I barely even fought --" Something caught the corner of his optics; only then did he notice the broken datapad on the floor and the dented, cracked statue by the door. "Primus, did you actually manage to _hit_ him with those things?"

"Yeah." Cliffjumper hissed, wincing as he did so. As nimble blue servos unlatched the metal cuffs -- it appeared that they hadn't been locked --, the red minibot slowly sat up. "Tried to, anyway."

Blurr frowned with deep concern; the former secretary still appeared to be in pain, but the Elite Guard couldn't recall being injured after any of his own assaults. A shudder ran along his frame simply thinking about their now shared nightly tortures. "Cliffjumper, did he hurt you other than the..?" Despite his often verbose speech, he couldn't bring himself to actually say the words.

Cliffjumper shook his head. "Not that I remember." Still, he paused to think. "Is my spark supposed to hurt _after_?"

"Mine didn't." Blurr frowned.

With a deeply troubled expression, the minibot quickly unlatched the casing around his spark chamber. What would have been the roof and front window of his vehicle mode slid apart to reveal the pulsing sphere of light and surrounding circuitry. For the most part, Blurr was amazed that the minibot had the strength to unlatch his spark chamber so soon after such a vicious attack.

As he leaned sideways to take a closer look in to the open chest cavity, a white faceplate openly gaped again; optics widened at the sight. "Holy frag, I didn't know that could happen!"

"What? What happened?" Cliffjumper shifted in clear worry. "I need a mirror..!"

"There's _burns_ on your spark chamber..!" Blurr sputtered; he had never given thought to the slight difference in the size of their frames -- Cliffjumper was only a few feet shorter than he was and the speedster was technically a minibot as well -- and hadn't so much as mused that the red mech might hold a smaller spark within his chassis. He hadn't considered that Shockwave could inflict more damage simply through interfacing. "There's black scorch marks and scars and I think even some of the wires got frazzled and I didn't know that could actually happen even with the spark size difference --"

"Great." Cliffjumper interrupted with a moan as he closed up the front of his chassis and grit his dentals. "Just great. That explains why it hurts like the pit whenever I move."

Blurr did not respond. For an unsteady moment of silence, the blue Elite Guard simply looked to the smaller mech as thoughts swirled within a sped-up processor. His vocalizer dropped to a near whisper when he spoke again. "Why didn't you tell me about the ID tags in the closet?"

Cliffjumper winced again; this time, it was not from pain. "..I didn't want to worry you."

"You didn't want to _worry _me?" Blurr sputtered; it took conscious effort to keep from yelling. "Primus, Cliffjumper, I don't think I've _stopped_ worrying since we were kidnapped in the first place! Did you think I couldn't handle the fact that there've been other bots in here before us?! It's practically common sense with what the sick fragger that got us is doing --"

"I didn't want to hurt you." A red helm looked to the floor. "Primus only knows how long we're going to be stuck here and I didn't want to make things worse."

Blurr paused, touched by the concern. "Cliffjumper.."

A hiss rent the air; despite the soft sound, both mechs looked up with the alarm a thunderclap would have produced. The washrack door was open; the ever disturbing visage of a soaked Shockwave stood at the door. Blurr shuddered at recollection and took a step back. For a moment, the speedster expected the Decepticon to call his name as he ordinarily did.

"Cliffjumper." The shapeshifters' call caused the minibot to flinch. "Come here."

Blurr took a step forward to protest but a red servo on his arm stopped him. His own wide blue optics looked to the minibots' own morose pair with horror.

"I'll be fine." Cliffjumper let go of the speedsters' arm as he sent a sideways glare at the shapshifting Decepticon. With a pain-filled hiss, the small red frame slid off the berth and made his way towards the waiting purple mech. He glared at the towering shapeshifter as he moved.

As the door to the washracks slid shut, Blurr trembled.

* * *

Water did not occur naturally on Cybertron. Before the discovery of organic worlds and the natural elements that came with them, the removal of dirt, grime and scuff marks had been taken care of with specialized radio waves. Despite that many millennia had passed since the introduction of water and soap to Cybertronian life, the difficulty of acquiring such materials had made them expensive; often, only the particularly wealthy could afford it.

With their recent venture on Earth, the Decepticons had the chance to obtain as much water as they could hold. Perhaps it was why the opaque liquid pouring from the small holes in the ceiling had been left on as Shockwave pulled in his Autobot prisoner; they had the luxury to waste such precious resource.

None of this surprised Cliffjumper in the least; the Decepticons, as far as he was concerned, had the habit of simply taking what they wanted with no regard for anything or anyone else. To squander the excess water -- something a great number of poorer mechs and femmes had likely never even seen with their own optics -- was nothing less than gluttony.

The red minibot didn't comment on his perspective; for the moment, he didn't make a sound at all. He simply allowed large claws that were individually the size of his entire frame to nudge him underneath the soapy solvent. The soft droplets felt like razor blades against his frame; all possible splendor was lost to the situation.

Cliffjumper rubbed his upper arms in displeasure, unconsciously enclosing himself in a self-made embrace. As the Decepticon advanced towards a rack of sponges and scrubbing tools, the smaller mech turned to glare. "What's the point of this? What's the point of cleaning us up when it's obvious why we're here? None of the other sick 'cons even bother with the Autobots they took for slaves."

Shockwave turned to stare with atypical blankness, bath scrubber held in one servo. The strange sight might have produced a laugh if the Autobot hadn't been so furious. As the towering Decepticon silently stepped towards the much smaller mech, Cliffjumper took a step away; the free claw grabbed hold of a sloped shoulder guard and pulled him back.

"You aren't so much a slave as you are property." Shockwave crooned; his grip tightened on the minibot as he snarled and twisted. "Had you been given to any other Decepticon, you likely would have been offline within a single solar cycle. However, you and Blur are both mine, and I know how to take care with my things."

Cliffjumper growled; he pulled against the claws around his shoulder with no effect. As the bristles of the brush crossed his chest plate, a deep shudder of revulsion coursed through him. "You sick, fragged-up..!" The sheer rage did not allow the insult to complete.

Shockwave simply chuckled.

* * *

_Liar! Killer! Demon!_

_Back to the river Aras!_

_Freedom.. Freedom.._

_We're free.._

_We're free.._

_We have learned that you have no_

_Honor! Murderer! Sodomizer!_

_Back to the river Aras!_

_We have learned that you have no_

_Honor! Murderer! Sodomizer!_

_Back to the river Aras!_

_Freedom.. Freedom.._

-- 'Holy Mountains', System of a Down


	11. Chapter 11

Author notes: ..The holidays are messing with my typing time and thinking. Blarghjar holidays.

HAPPY DECEMBER, PEOPLE.

..Respond time!

To the TWENTY-EIGHT people that faved the illustration for last chamber on deviantart but didn't comment there or here: Why aren't you commenting!? XD FEED MY MUSES.

Reka1207: *noms the cookies* You don't know whether you want the happy ending or more angst, huh? XD

Onyx17: Probably won't happen. ^^; I just see Shockwave as more in to the whole domination/control/MINE thing than anything else, at this point.

JJStar: Yay, this time, I was able to understand your review. XD ... Slang confuses me. =D

ShadowedBlossom: Your review made me so happy. You have no idea. *noms more cookies!*

Blackmoondragon: I don't think Cliff even passed through the 'it's not your fault' stage. I think he woke up on day one going, 'That son of a..'

Lucy Sumeragui: Aahaha. Hahaha. No. I already did the whole preggo thing with Streamline; this time, I'm staying away from it. XD I can only make this thing so complex, even if I'm a fangirl.

* * *

_When the darkness has fallen down_

_And the times are tough, alright_

_The sound of evil laughter falls_

_Around the world tonight_

_Fighting hard, fighting on for the steel_

_Through the wastelands evermore_

_The scattered souls will feel the hell_

_Bodies wasted on the shore_

_On the blackest plains_

_In Hells' domain_

_We watch them as they go_

_Through the fire and pain_

_And once again, we know_

-- 'Through the Fire and the Flames', Dragonforce

**Souvenir: Chapter Eleven**

* * *

On the afternoon of the twelfth day, something changed.

The day had progressed ordinarily enough -- or, rather, as ordinary as they could call their situation. Blurr had been huddling against his smaller companion as they sat and waited for Shockwave to leave what they understood to be a daily strategy session. The long hours the two Autobots spent tethered by the large double-doors held quiet, often subdued chatter or a few moments of recharge; all things considered, it was possibly the least dangerous part of their days.

When the doors finally slid open to herald the end of the meeting, they had both felt the strange shift in the air. It may have been the slightly manic grins that several departing Decepticons had splayed upon their faceplates or the eager red optics that they hadn't seen after one of these meetings before, but something certainly felt different. It wasn't until Shockwave came to fetch them, shaking with fury, did the two Autobots exchange nervous glances.

They had both been dreading what an angry Shockwave might do to them. It had been a horrid enough experience being lorded over by a _pleased _Decepticon; even if they weren't the cause of his anger, they likely bear the brunt of it.

By the time they were halfway to the shapeshifters' quarters, Blurr was trembling. Cliffjumper was just as nervous, metal brows furrowed as they were led along the usual route.

Once they were inside and their collars unlatched, Shockwave took an unusually long moment to stare down at them in absolute silence. After the frightening few seconds, the shapeshifter turned away and left the room. The door slid and locked shut.

Only then did the two prisoners dare to relax. Blurr barely managed to get to the sitting area before he collapsed on the chaise. "Oh, dear Primus, I thought he was going to start yelling or beat us or something..!"

"Yeah.." Cliffjumper let out a long intake as he sat on the only other chair in the room. They didn't know why the small lounge had two seats when Shockwave was the only Decepticon to own the room; neither decided to risk their lives to ask. "Don't know what the slag that was about."

As the minibot let out a soft hiss, the speedster frowned with visible concern. The small red mech had been moving slowly as of late and, at times, had even been limping in the attempt to handle his internal wounds. "Are the burns healing up at all?"

Cliffjumper let out a snort. "My self-repair got most of it, but it still hurts like the Pit." He shook his head as he leaned back in to the padded seat. "I think I'm pretty much stuck with it unless the slagger decides to call a medic, and I rather offline then ask that fragger for anything." With that, the minibots' optics shut down for a few moments of what was almost comfortable rest.

Blurrs' deep, worried frown went unseen by his companion.

* * *

The alarm clock always chimed several seconds before Shockwave returned. The shrill, annoying buzz served as both a warning and, on occasion, its' actual designed purpose; Cliffjumper woke from an unintended nap at the loud tone. Still, he didn't bother to do more than sit up, momentarily unperturbed by the Decepticons' presence. Blurr, however, quickly stepped away from the chaise; it was, after all, Shockwaves' favorite seat.

When the towering Decepticon stepped through the sliding door, both Autobots tensed; the shapeshifter still appeared vaugly annoyed, claws and sensory antennas twitching. The single optic roved over the usual shelf; claws gripped hold of the same novel they always did. Then, Shockwave stopped, back still turned to his prisoners.

The pause had never happened before; as Blurr sat in the corner farthest away from the lounge and shared a worried look with his fellow Autobot, Cliffjumper came to the conclusion that it probably wasn't a good idea to sit so close to an obviously distempered Decepticon. Although neither had ever been molested during this hour in the days before, he decided not to test the theory of whether or not anger would change that.

A red frame slid off the chair and quietly began to move away just as Shockwave turned around. The shapeshifters' longer strides brought him to the sitting area before the minibot was able to move too far; a clawed servo quickly wrapped itself around a red arm. The difference in size was vaguely reminiscent of a young sparkling grasping a doll.

For a brief moment, everything stopped. Cliffjumper turned to stare with wide-opticked terror and gave a slight, experimental tug of his arm; Blurr struggled in his restraints to stand, clearly alarmed.

Shockwaves' faceplace briefly glanced up to look to the blue mech in the corner. "Stay."

The order alone caused the speedster to pause. Cliffjumper glanced back to Blurr and gave a quick shake of his head; the latter stared at his red companion with worried disbelief. The minibot gulped; the small action appeared to end whatever silent conversation they had held. Shaking, Blurr settled back on the floor. Yet, he continued to look on.

The thick talons gave a harsh tug; Cliffjumper hissed and nearly stumbled, one hand subconsciously settling itself atop his burning chest plate as he was pulled along. Shockwave still held the datapad in one claw as he settled in to the chaise; in the same move, he pulled the frightened minibot besides him, arm wrapping around the much smaller frame.

Then, he held the datapad up to a comfortable position and turned it on.

For several long minutes, Cliffjumper waited for something to happen. When nothing more than simply being held went on, the former secretary began to feel rather disturbed. A glance to the corner showed that Blurr was similarly confounded; neither knew what to make of the new situation.

Thankfully, the claws did not stray to uncomfortable places; they simply held the prisoner in the bizarre embrace. Only when the long, strange hour ended and long claws did not let go, instead dragging the resisting minibot towards the berth, did the two Autobots riot again.

For the second night since their ordeal began, Blurr wound up in the closet.

* * *

The following morning, Cliffjumper wasn't able to move without intense pain. The usual trek towards their daily ration had to be made with Blurr physically supporting the cringing mech along. Shockwave either didn't notice or didn't care, leashes pulling them through the halls with the same speed they always did.

It was a relief to finally be chained by the grand table that sat the high ranking officers; the captive Elite Guard had the sense to gently lower his companion to the floor before sitting besides him. The minibots' faceplate flushed with shame.

"Again, huh?" Was Trackbacks' first words when he sat by them, fatigued optics looking over the two bots. "It got worse the second time, huh?"

Cliffjumper looked up warily, ignoring the blue hand that was trying calm him with gentle pats to the shoulder. "You're not a minibot. What do you know about it?"

Trackback gave the smaller mech a knowing stare. "Havn't you noticed you're just about the only minibot here? The last one I knew about was offlined within three solar cycles. Too many spark burns too quick. The Decepticons'r just too big, most of the time."

Before either mech could respond to the troubling information, Shockwave stepped towards them with a filled cube in each servo. However, instead of placing them on the floor by his prisoners and walking towards his seat as he usually did, he paused. The stillness was far too reminiscent of the day before to not cause both Blurr and Cliffjumper to fret.

All three mechs couldn't help but look up in fear.

Slowly, the first cube was set down. The free claw then grasped hold of the leash tethering Blurr to the wall; the chain was dislodged it with a single flick of a pointed digit. Without a word, the shapeshifter began to lead the shaking Autobot towards the table.

As soon as he sat upon the ornate chair, the captive Elite Guard was pulled atop his lap, remaining cube shoved towards the quivering mech.

Cliffjumper could do nothing more than look on in impotent rage, sputtering and shaking. "That.. That sick.. He better not..!" He hissed at sudden pain.

A scarred servo rested against his shoulder. "Trust me, Cliff.. If Shockwave was going to force Blurr in to anything here, he would have done it already."

The former secretary briefly glanced back to the long time prisoner before looking back to Blurr; the speedster was shaking with nothing short of absolute terror. White-painted hands barely held on to the cube the Decepticon had given him, but drank from it regardless; it was the only meal they would be given for the day and it seemed that, even in a very uncomfortable and frightening position, he wasn't going to waste it.

It was only upon seeing Blurr drink did Cliffjumper do so as well.

* * *

When they left the mess hall, Blurr was still shaking. Despite his chattering limbs, he still held on to Cliffjumper in the attempt to support him; the minibot grit his dentals and refused to tell his friend that the shaking only caused more pain.

It took several cycles of walking to notice that they weren't heading in the same direction that they ordinarily did. Instead of making their way towards the daily meeting, Shockwave was leading them back towards his suite.

Neither prisoner queried the change, far too frightened of what the answer might be. It was as if the day had ended too quickly; as soon as they were inside, the collars were taken off as if it were already the evening.

A single, slitted optic bored down on them. "I will be gone for approximately four solar cycles." Shockwaves' tone held an air of discontent. "You will both remain here for the duration of that time. A drone will bring you your daily ration. You may read the novels and use the washracks while I'm away, but I expect everything to be in order when I return."

Then, their self-proclaimed master turned and left. The sliding door locked itself with a resounding click.

For a moment, the two Autobots could only stand there in shock. After several stunned seconds, Cliffjumper let out an intake he hadn't been aware was being held. "..What the slag just happened?"

* * *

_Running back through the midmorning light_

_There's a burning in my heart_

_We're banished from a time in a fallen land_

_To a lifetime beyond the stars_

_And on the wings of a dream_

_So far beyond reality_

_All alone in desperation_

_Now the time has gone_

_Lost inside, you'll never find_

_Lost within my own mind_

_Day after day this misery must go on!_

_So far away, we wait for the day_

_For the lives all so wasted and gone_

_We feel the pain of a lifetime lost in a thousand days_

_Through the fire and the flames_

_We carry on!_

-- 'Through the Fire and the Flames', Dragonforce


	12. Chapter 12

Author notes: This is a bit of a talky chapter. An emotional talky chapter. Next chapter will return to your regularly scheduled angstyness and physical drama. XD

..I was torn between two song choices for this chapter. Blarghle.

RESPOND TIME.

Tugura: You actually hit every single thought and subtle plot point right on the nose. I'm really impressed and glad I wasn't TOO vague. XD Tho, I hope you won't be too mad at me for how I foresee their newfound relationship. ;)

ShadowedBlossom: ...Holiday music was playing on the local rock station today. I wanted to bang my head on a wall.

Thing With No Talent: HI AGAIN. I remember you from Streamline reviews! XD

* * *

_Shadows set the mood_

_Innocence left the room_

_And all I know to do_

_Is shed a tear for you_

_Please don't be ashamed_

_Whether you win or lose_

_I just want you to know_

_That I'm proud of you_

_Don't be afraid_

_When your fight is through_

_I just need you to know_

_That I'm here with you_

-- 'Proud of You', 10 Years

**Souvenir: Chapter Twelve**

* * *

It had taken several long, quiet hours before both captives realized that they truly were going to be left alone. It wasn't until the shrill cry of the alarm clock and Shockwaves' lack of return several minutes later did the the knowledge finally settle in to stunned, haze-filled processors. Although Cliffjumper had been laying back on the large chaise for some time, he didn't visibly relax until several minutes after the clocks' cry.

The minibot was still in pain; Blurr had been able to tell simply by looking at the smaller mech. The Elite Guards' quickened thought process had already gone from concern to fear to panic and back again several times in the past few hours; the facts his own mind presented from such thoughts frightened him beyond measure.

It truly was a no-win situation.

"There's no other way around it now, is there?" Blurr didn't look to his companion as he sat nearby; still, he knew his sudden words grabbed his friends' attention. After all, he had been silent for some time. "When he gets back, there aren't any other choices, and I've been thinking about this all day and I've gone through everything in my head.." He took a deep intake in the attempt to settle his frazzled mind; it didn't work. "When he gets back, I'm going to have to seduce him or something to get his attention away from you."

Cliffjumper groaned; from the corner of his optics, the speedster could see the minibots' hand rub his faceplate. "Not this again. Blurr, we've had this conversation.."

"We didn't know about the burns back then and you heard what Trackback said this morning about what could happen!" Blurr trembled. "Too many times, too many days in a row, and.." He paused, unable to say aloud what he feared. "We don't know how long we're going to be here and at least I could endure and survive it!"

There came a soft shuffle of metal against fabric; Cliffjumper sat up slowly, hissing and wincing in pain. When he spoke, his words came slowly and with a quiet, even tone. "If it happens, it happens. But I don't want you to give in to the fragger."

Blurr turned sharply to stare, shock and horror writ across his frame. "He could _kill_ you, Cliffjumper!" Chained pedes staggered upright and took several quick steps to the minibots' side. "If Shockwave takes you too many times, the burns are going to get to your very lasercore and _offline_ you for good and you're going to _die _on that Primus-cursed berth and underneath that fragger and you're like a brother to me and I don't want you to offline!"

As the desperate ramble came to a halt with a frenzied pitch, he wrapped the surprised minibot in a shaky hug; somewhere along the way, his intakes had begun to hitch and hiccup. Several whimpering, sobbed seconds passed before a small servo gently patted his back.

"It's all right.." Cliffjumper whispered with audible surprise; the patting continued in the attempt to sooth the quivering, crying mech.

"No, it's not!" Blurr wailed. "He's going to kill you unless I get his attention away from you and I don't want to but there's no other way and I don't.." A particularly harsh hiccup shook his frame. "I don't want you to die.. We've been through so much together and we're supposed to escape together and I love you because you're my brother and best friend and I can't, I can't, I can't.."

"I've survived so far." Cliffjumper returned the hug even as he continued his attempts to sooth his companion. "I'm not going to offline any time soon, Blurr. As much as you don't want me to get hurt, I don't want you to give up and give in, either. We just have to hold out a little longer until help gets here, that's all.."

Blurr hiccuped again; the hug was not released for a very long while.

* * *

They both slept on the chaise that night. The large lounge chair had more than enough room to comfortably fit them both. Even if it hadn't, neither Autobot could bring themselves to stare at the berth for more than a few second at a time, let along actually lay down upon it.

The alarm chimed in the morning; both awoke with a harsh, sudden jolt of terror at the sound. Deep intakes and a long cycle passed before they managed to calm themselves down; panic ebbed to a much more manageable light tremble.

After a short moment of making certain that they were both still alive and generally in one piece, Blurr had stood. "Cliffjumper, stay here. Just relax and take it easy for a while, I'm going to see if there's anything useful around here."

The minibot smirked and rolled his optics; he made no move to protest.

Blurr offered his friend a small, sad smile; now that his processor was clear from the first uninterrupted recharge cycle he's had for some time, shame from the previous afternoon swelled in his spark. He hadn't intended to fall apart the way he had; the speedster wondered if his emotional outburst had done more harm than good.

The berthside closet that didn't hold a body was searched first; a shudder of revulsion coursed through his frame at many of the devices and pieces of equipment held in the small space. A silent prayer was sent that neither of them would ever have to suffer through the various instruments laid before him; a part of his own processor knew with certain dread that the prayer was in vain.

During his search of the closet, the main door opened just enough to allow a very small, square drone to breeze in. Two filled cubes of energon were balanced precariously on its' back; the small robot was barely large enough for both to fit on it. Blurr took hold of both cubes and handed one to Cliffjumper, refusing to allow the injured mech to get off of the chaise.

The small drone let out a delighted set of beeps before it zoomed away.

Blurr shook his head to clear it, somehow disturbed by the cheerful drone, before gulping half the cube in one swing. The half empty cube was set on a table before making his way towards the washracks; they had never been allowed in there alone, before, and the speedster wondered if there might be something useful inside.

Simply stepping inside the shining steel basin sent a shudder through his frame; too many mornings had been spent underneath the large shower-head with wicked claws running along his frame to not feel a sense of disturbed dread. A deep intake was taken to steady himself before chained pedes properly stepped inside.

Most of the doors and drawers were out of his reach. Perhaps it was Shockwaves' shapeshifting and elongation skills that allowed him to have doors in strange places; for a long moment, Blurr simply stared at what looked like a set of drawers installed around the ceiling in the futile attempt to make sense of it. Realizing he could stare for hours and not understand it, the speedster began to explore the drawers and doors at a more manageable level.

It took nearly a half megacycle to find anything remotely useful; most of the drawers were either empty, or held spare parts and alternate decorative pieces for the shower. Eventually, wide blue optics landed upon the contents of one drawer; Blurr let out an almost hysterical laugh of joy at what he found.

"..Blurr?" Cliffjumpers' stunned voice responded to the trill. "You okay in there?"

"I found a first aid kit!" Blurr practically cheered, rushing back out to the main room as fast as the chains allowed him; the marked box was held in his hands. The red and white box was set on the table as if it were something precious, ordinarily quick fingers opening the latches with slow precision. Cliffjumper stared with a dubious expression.

Once the box was open, Blurr carefully searched the contents. Another nearly wild laugh erupted as he picked up a large, slightly worn tube. "Aha! Burn gel!"

"What?" Cliffjumper perked up. "What, medication for burns?"

Excited blue optics roved over the bottle. "That's what the directions say on this thing! Primus, I almost didn't think there'd be anything and I really wasn't expecting to find exactly what we need in there --"

"Blurr." Cliffjumper couldn't help the smirk.

"Oh! Slag, right!" Some sense returned to the speedster; he turned back to the injured minibot, medication held in his hands. He gazed over the printed instructions on the bottle. "I.. Uhm.. It says to put it right on the burn wounds. It says it helps your self-repair work faster to recover."

The smile vanished from the minibots' faceplate. "..Slag. Makes sense, but.. Slag." A deep intake was taken as shaking hands slowly opened his chest plate.

* * *

Cliffjumper had to keep telling himself that it was only Blurr touching his spark chamber. Blurrs' thin, nimble servos were nothing like Shockwaves' monstrous claws; the cold feeling around his sensitive spark was simply the gel and nothing more.

The former secretary had to shut off his optics as soon as he felt the first touch on his frame. Despite knowing with absolute certainty that Blurr would never hurt him and that Shockwave was nowhere nearby, he couldn't help but quake with the same fear he felt when the Decepticon dragged him to the berth.

He hadn't thought about it before, but it was now clear that, even if they were rescued within the hour, things had happened that they would never be able to recover from. There had been a time when the minibot could happily go to an oil bar and have a one night stand in a drunken stupor and be fine the following cycle; now, he couldn't stand even gentle, hesitant touches. He didn't doubt that Blurr felt the same way.

Shockwave had ruined them. In less than a fortnight, they had both been changed irrevocably from the mechs they had once been.

Blurrs' servo landed on a particular sensitive segment of his chamber, entirely too close to his spark. A deep shudder coursed through his frame; the servo pulled back.

"I'm sorry.." Blurr half whispered, half whimpered from above him. "I'm trying to be careful.."

"It's okay." Cliffjumper still refused to online his optics, synthesizer releasing his voice in a thick croak. "It's okay. Just.. Just keep going."

He could hear Blurr release a shaky intake; then, the hesitant servo trailed along his spark chamber again.

* * *

By the time Cliffjumpers' chest plate was closed and covered again, both mechs were shaking. Blurr sat on the floor by the chaise, glancing to the minibot with concern; the smaller mechs' optics were still offline.

The speedster waited until his friends' shaking slowed down to a less terrifying level; he waited until Cliffjumper let out a deep, steady intake to break the silence.

"Is.. Is the gel helping at all? The bottle said it wouldn't take more than a few minutes to start working even a little bit."

Cliffjumper finally onlined his optics; a thoughtful expression crossed his faceplate. "I.. Actually, yeah. It actually does hurt a bit less.." His optics offlined again as a small smile began to form. "..It's actually starting to feel kind of nice."

Blurr began to smile as well; he had been afraid that he had done something wrong while he had been applying the gel, worried about unintentionally hurting his friend even more. He looked back to the bottle in his hands, searching for any extra directions or fine print he may have missed.

After a moment, the speedster blinked at the bottle. "..Huh."

"What is it?" Cliffjumper responded with exhaustion.

"According to the bottle, this burn gel expired half a century ago."

Silence reigned for a long moment. Then, Cliffjumper began to shake again; this time, laughter began to erupt as he shook.

There was a strange hilarity surrounding the date on the bottle. As the minibot quaked in laughter, Blurr found himself joining in. Perhaps it was the stress of the past while, but the simply stamped numbers were the most entertaining thing he could remember seeing for a long while.

* * *

_I can't watch you choose_

_To pour salt in your wounds_

_Now all I know to do_

_Is say a prayer for you_

_Please don't be ashamed_

_Whether you win or lose_

_I just want you to know_

_That I'm proud of you_

_Don't be afraid_

_When your fight is through_

_I just need you to know_

_That I'm here with you_

-- 'Proud of You', 10 Years


	13. Chapter 13

Author notes: I managed to finish this before Christmas. Go me! Woo! MERRY HOLIDAY TIME. XD

I've had this scene in my head for a while. One of the first that actually started this wild ride, and now it's at chapter 13. Whoops.

If any of you have ever seen a 10-year-old anime miniseries called 'Now and Then, Here and There', the start of the sixth ep inspired this. Just so ya know.

Warnings: ..Wooo. Oh, this is a violent one. Very.. Very.. Violent. *cough* ..You've been warned.

RESPOND TIME.

Thing With No Talent: Your very detailed review left me in shock for a good two hours. I hope I don't lose you with this chapter. XD

Lucky Koi: My brain responded in two ways to your question: 1: "AHAHAHAHA. No." 2: "_Don't temp me, woman!" _.... We'll see what happens. But probably not.

Blackmoondragon: Curiously, the expired medication is inspired by a true story. Me: "Mom, this Tylenol expired six years ago." Mom: "Really? I took some and it worked anyway!" Sometimes, even expired meds work! ..Or is a placebo.

* * *

_Your life_

_Will never be the same_

_On your mothers' eyes, say a prayer_

_Say a prayer!_

_Now!_

_But I can't, and I don't know_

_How we're just two men as God had made us_

_Well, I can't! Well, I can!_

_Too much, too late, or just not enough of this_

_Pain in my heart for your dying wish_

_But nobody cares if you're losing yourself_

_Am I losing myself?_

-- 'You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison', My Chemical Romance

**Souvenir: Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

The medication had been applied twice more by the end of the day. Despite the clearly stamped expiration date, the gel seemed to have retained its' potency; either that, or the placebo effect was working wonderfully. Either way, neither of the Autobots questioned the soothing properties felt after the emotionally difficult application; if Cliffjumper could bring himself to endure it, Blurr couldn't deny him.

The salve appeared to dissolve on its' own within the minibots' chassis; both were thankful for that, neither wishing to go through with having to clean out the sensitive spark chamber and all the torment such touch would likely evoke. They weren't certain how the gel dissolved the way it did, but neither had ever studied medicine and decided it wasn't worth the trouble to think too deeply about.

By the third day, Cliffjumper had begun to get used to the frequent application of the salve. With only a single solar cycle until Shockwave returned, he had even attempted to relax underneath Blurrs' gentle touch.

When he had been a sparkling, humor had been a way to handle stress; for the moment, the red mech reverted to his younger self.

"When we get out of here, you should become a masseuse. You're good at this." The minibot smirked despite still wincing at phantom terrors.

Blurr stopped, startled by the joke. After a moment, the speedster sputtered. "Cliffjumper!"

"What?" The mech in question snorted with sudden laughter.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're even talking about right now.." Blurr continued to sputter. "But you really shouldn't be moving or laughing when I'm trying to put this gel on you. I don't want to accidentally get it in your spark or someplace that might --"

The door slid open. The small drone that delivered their daily ration had already made its' round hours beforehand; the unexpected hiss caused both mechs to look up with sudden fear. The terror only grew at what they saw.

Shockwave was early. The towering Decepticon simply stood at the open door and stared; the usual purple frame had darkened considerably since the last time the two prisoners had seen him, single wide optic even larger than before. Even his sensory pupil had changed, thinning and elongating itself to a single, thin line stretching from one end of the red glass to the other. The changed appearance radiated fury; something must have happened while their self-proclaimed master had been gone.

It took less than a few seconds for both processor to digest the horrifying visage before them; a moment more to realize the delicate position at least one of them was in.

Cliffjumper was flat on his back, brightly glowing spark bared nude, and Shockwave was _early_. The protective casing that was his vehicle mode windshield lay on the floor by the chaise; with a surge of panic, the minibot lunged for it.

Shockwave strode in quicker than either had seen him move before. Blurr quickly stood between his friend and his kidnapper in the feeble attempt to protect the smaller mech or to, at the very least, buy a moment of time; a clawed servo easily backhanded the blue mech to the floor. The other claw grabbed a red plated arm just as it grasped the pane of glass; a quick shake forced the minibot to drop it again.

Cliffjumper twisted and flailed with nothing short of absolute terror. "Let _go_ of --" A scream nearly tore itself free when he was quickly lifted in to the air, dangling helplessly by the grip on his arm.

A single, wide optic brought itself close to the pulsing spark, changed pupil slowly roving over the minibots' chassis as if in inspection; Cliffjumper couldn't stop himself from trembling at the simple closeness. After a long, frightening moment of silence, the Decepticon looked to the floor; a cloven pede nudged at the tube of gel that had been dropped somewhere along the way.

"Does this help you?" Even Shockwaves' voice was deeper, more menacing than they recalled; the slitted optic looked back to the much smaller mech in his grasp.

The unexpected question caused shock; Cliffjumper opened and closed his mouth several times, but no sound emerged.

The claw gripping his arm gave a harsh shake. "Does the medication _help_ you?"

Cliffjumper yelped at the jolt; his struggles renewed itself. "Yes! _Yes_, it fragging helps, now put me _down_!"

Surprisingly, their tormentor did as told; Shockwave lowered the flailing minibot to the floor with an almost gentle slowness. Without another word, the cyclopian Decepticon turned and hurried to the washracks; the door slid shut behind him.

Blurr rushed to the shaking red mech as soon as he had been set down, picking up the sleek pane glass along the way. Without a word, he helped to set it back on his friends' frame; he received a nod of gratitude in return. Both were entirely too shaken to attempt conversation.

The overhead pipes never made a sound. Nearly fifteen minutes after Shockwave had entered the washracks, he exited again with a box held under an arm. The container was dropped unceremoniously to the ground; the contents jumped out of the open top as it fell to briefly revealing the identical bottles of burn gel within. Silently, Shockwave picked up the worn tube from the floor and tossed it with the others.

Then, the extraordinarily vicious optic glared at the two frightened prisoners; it took a moment for the pair to recognize the expression on the shapeshifters' faceplate as the leer normally received in the later hours of the night.

For the first time, the two Autobots quaked together; Blurr held on to Cliffjumpers' arm as he shook, refusing to allow the smaller mech to step in front of him as he ordinarily did. In turn, the minibot did not allow the speedster the same liberty.

Their silent agreement only seemed to enrage Shockwave beyond whatever had originally annoyed him; before two sets of wide, blue optics, the Decepticon physically grew several feet more. After a moment, the ogling optic landed upon the smaller, red frame.

"Get on the berth." The order came out in a guttural hiss.

There had never been instruction before; the simple fact that there was one at all horrified both Autobots. Blurr clung tighter to a red plated arm as his vocalizer let out a thin squeak.

A soft series of pops echoed in the silence; the claws on slowly growing servos multiplied, sharply pointed metal joined by enough siblings to completely disguise just how many there were. The heavily armored barbs flexed.

"I will not say this again." A dangerous, low whisper. "Get on the berth."

"We're not..!" Cliffjumper sputtered.

"You can't expect us to _cooperate _in our own _rapes_!" Blurr shouted.

"You _Autobots_..!" Shockwave hissed, spitting their factions' name as if it were something vile. "Always hiding behind each other, never succumbing to your true superiors, holding so much arrogant pride without any real reason to have it!" As the Decepticon ranted, elongated sensory antennae grew and enlarged, sprouting a myriad of new spikes until the thin branches nearly touched the ceiling. "I will not stand for this. Now do as your told and _get on the berth!_"

With a wild, desperate shriek, Blurr launched himself at the Decepticon with raised fists; he swung and struck the much larger bot with all the power he had, ignoring Cliffjumpers' cry of alarm behind him. Shockwave let out a small growl and struck the speedster with enough force to send him flying in to the wall.

There was a dangerous _crack_ as a blue helm hit the wall; Blurr slumped, unconscious, to the floor.

"Blurr!" Cliffjumper yelped, turning to run to the fallen mech; claws grasped hold of his arm and pulled him back. The minibot pulled at his trapped limb feebly, knowing the uselessness of struggling but refusing to simply give up. As the futility of the situation became more apparent, he began to yell wordlessly, fighting with all that he had.

The mutated Decepticon dragged the minibot, literally kicking and screaming, towards the hated berth. A wail of fury, fear and sheer _helplessness _erupted from the flailing mech as he was lifted and slammed against the cushioned metal.

Cliffjumper continued to yell and scream as sheer _panic_ overtook over all other senses. The memory of previous assaults mingled with the one taking place in the present; he may have known what to expect, but repetition did not make the here and now any easier to handle.

As servos deformed with too many sharply pointed claws tried to hook themselves upon the latches protecting his spark, leaving numerous scrapes and tears in the attempt, something deep within the minibots' processor snapped.

He didn't want this to happen; not again.

Reflex caused his own servos to shift; the stingers every bot with his protoform mold was given suddenly replaced the digits of his own hands. The pointed metal had been deemed useless shortly after their capture, the electric current having been disabled sometime while he had been unconscious. The metal, as well, was simply not sharp enough to be used as a proper weapon.

However, desperate times called for desperate measures, and Cliffjumper certainly was desperate.

"_Get off of me!_" With the frantic cry, the former secretary shoved both of the stingers in to a deep violet chest plate with as much force as he could.

Shockwave roared in pain and pulled back. Perhaps the surprise of being stabbed caused the shapeshifter a delayed reaction; for the moment, his victim was left unrestrained. It was all the former secretary needed.

Cliffjumper lurched forward with his stingers bared, aimlessly pushing the dull weapons in to the violet metal again; the minibot barely noticed when the large Decepticon fell backwards or when his smaller frame landed atop him. He simply kept up the assault, stabbing over and over again; he screamed, almost mindlessly, as he attacked his abuser.

It wasn't until a dim part of his processor noted that there was no more purple-shaded metal to hit did he stop. It took a moment longer to realize that Shockwave wasn't moving; the once dark metal was now a light, sheer gray. Pink lifeblood coated everything and continued to bleed out of the inflicted wounds.

The minibot took in deep intakes and stared at the bleeding corpse. He simply sat there for what felt like a very long time, processor blank.

It wasn't until a soft groan broke the silence did he remember that he wasn't alone.

"Blurr!" Cliffjumper croaked, staggering to the twitching blue mech; the speedsters' optics were still offline. A red hand shook the unmoving blue frame. "Blurr, wake up, we have to get out of here..!"

"You shouldn't have done that."

The minibot turned in freight; his optics caught a split-second view of claws before he was flying through the air. There hadn't been time to think; he simply screamed as he hit the shelf on the far end of the room and fell to the floor. The shelf teetered before falling atop him.

The shelf was heavy; Cliffjumper twisted and pushed, but found himself unable to break free. His arms and helm were the only parts of him not pinned beneath the heavy piece of furniture.

Shockwave approached with slow strides and a light limp, numerous wounds still bleeding; the shapeshifter dragged a trail of pink behind him as he moved.

Internally, Cliffjumper quailed.

"You shouldn't have done that." Shockwave repeated, colors changing and returning to the deep purple they had been before. The shapeshifter hissed as he looked to the small, red-plated hands pushing feebly at the metal shelf; a clawed servo took hold of a hand with feigned tenderness before pulling and _wrenching_ the struggling limb.

The arm tore at the elbow; Cliffjumper howled in agony. Blue optics shuddered as he shrieked; they opened again to witness claws grasp hold of his other hand and repeat the motion.

For a moment, reality vanished in a haze of agony; the minibot could barely think through the horrid pains emanating from what was left of his arms. Still, he somehow noticed when the shelf was lifted and his twitching frame was pulled out from underneath. His processor snapped to attention at the realization that claws were, once again, grasping for the latches around his chest plate.

A deep keen came from a waning vocalizer; a claw struck a red helm in response. The overly taloned servo struck an optic with enough force to leave a deep, webbed crack; the blow robbed the mech of a valuable moment of time.

The minibot barely had a moment to regain his senses before his spark was suddenly under attack; Shockwave held none of the usual, slow gentleness reserved for his captives, instead thrusting against the much smaller spark with a great deal of force.

As soon as his spark was met by the much larger counterpart, Cliffjumper lost all sense of reality. There was simply _pain _and nothing else. His own systems complaints about all the damage went unnoticed; as well were the warnings of fuel loss and stress. For a brief moment of lucidity, the minibot was certain that Blurr had been right; he really was going to die here.

Cliffjumper didn't know how long the torture lasted, refusing to look at his chronometer; his spark let out a single, weak overload long before Shockwave neared his own. Red flashed along his HUD when it eventually happened; lancing fire coursed through his system when the Decepticons' overload passed through him, evoking a final wail that ended in a static-filled sob.

Then, finally, there was silence.

* * *

_Oh, nobody knows all the trouble I've seen.._

_Now!_

_But I can't, and I don't know_

_How we're just two men as God has made us_

_Well, I can't! Well, I can!_

_Too much, too late, or just not enough of this_

_Pain in my heart for your dying wish.._

_To your room_

_What they ask of you_

_They'll make you want to say:_

_"So long."_

_Life is but a dream for the dead._

-- 'You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison', My Chemical Romance


	14. Chapter 14

Author notes: Again, this particular chapters' been floating in my head a while. It came out a bit.. Long, and it jumps around a bit, but, uh.. ... Happy new year. :D

RESPOND TIME. YAY.

I-Can't-Exist: I hope the start of this chapter answers your question. :D If not.. I need to work on my story-telling skills. *cough*

Tugera: Sometimes, people do things they don't mean to do when very, very pissed off. :D

JJStar: I hope this chapter makes you cringe less. XD

Blackmoondragon: Actually, that had nothing to do with it. I hope the first scene in this chapter helps shed some light, tho.

Thing With No Talent: You, sir/ma'm, are why I continue to write this thing. I hope you know I look forward to your reviews.

* * *

_Oh, it's getting so hard_

_Livin' with the things you do to me, uh-huh_

_Oh, my dreams are getting so strange_

_I'd like to tell you everything I see_

_Oh, yeah, it was like lightning!_

_Everybody was frightening!_

_And the man at the back said_

_'Everyone attack!', and it turned in to a ballroom blitz_

_And the girl in the corner said_

_'Boy, I wanna warn ya, it'll turn in to a ballroom blitz'_

-- 'Ballroom Blitz', Sweet

**Souvenir: Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

"It's real, isn't it?"

"The email? Yeah.. Yeah, it's starting to look that way."

"Didja see the 'cons' faces?" A delighted laugh, made wild from the excitement of battle. "They really weren't expectin' us t'be here, that's fer sure!"

"That's why it's called a 'surprise attack', Ironhide." The joviality wasn't shared; he _had_ seen, had spotted a single-optic faceplate amongst the small group of invaders, and wondered if the furious mech had fragged some poor spark before they had gotten there. "Well.. It's confirmed, at least."

"So.. What do we do now?" The only femme in their small group frowned. "This essentially changes everything we know about what Decepticons do with prisoners."

Somehow, they had thought even Decepticons couldn't stoop so low.

"We need to tell the Magnus, at least. After that.. I don't really know. A rescue, maybe."

"Is yer hard drive glitchin'?" The previously laughing mech stared in disbelief. "No bots' ever gone in to th' flagship and come out again!"

"Well.." The Prime took in a deep intake. "Maybe we'll be the first. After all, we can't just _leave_ them there."

A long moment of silence passed.

"..Primus, I hope someone comes up with a plan."

* * *

Consciousness returned far too slowly for Blurrs' liking. The quick-moving speedster was so used to waking up with a start that the slow trickle of awareness quickly became an annoyance; his frame, it seemed, did not want to cooperate with the rest of him.

By the time his meta finally got in touch with the rest of him, his head was pounding with a steady and agitating rhythm. His own servo gently cradled the aching point in the back of his helm; his optics flickered online and slowly focused as he brought the strangely tingling limb in front of him.

Why his servo felt so strange quickly became apparent; the entire limb dripped with pink fluid. His own, it seemed, leaking from the back of his helm. A quick check on his systems revealed that his self-repair was already working on the problem; not enough fluid had been lost to bring about difficulty.

Yet, the drops falling down his hand met a pool on the floor. Blurr stared at the pink lake and realized it had a trail; his optics followed it to eventually look to the rest of the room.

A scream died in the back of his vocalizer at what he saw; pink coated _everything_. The floor was all but littered in the still wet liquid and even the walls bore some marks; the fallen shelf and scattered datapads appeared to have been painted with the brightly hued fuel. The berth, as well, was all but drowned.

Blurr slowly staggered to shaking, ever-chained pedes; the pounding within his mind only intensified as the fear escalated. A shuddering, drying hand covered his mouth as he took several steps away from the wall.

A chance look towards the energon-caked shelf -- and what lay on the floor besides it -- caused the Autobot to stop in slow moving tracks. It took a moment for a shock hazed mind to digest what he was seeing as truly real and not some horrible hallucination.

The Autobot collapsed to his knees as his vocalizer finally released a deep, petrified keen; both servos covered his mouth as he tried very hard not to vomit the previous days' ration.

The last thing Blurr recalled before waking up had been Shockwaves' return; he wondered what malice he had missed for Cliffjumpers' disembodied arms to end up on the floor.

* * *

The first thing Cliffjumper realized upon waking up was that he was still very much alive. Ordinarily, this would have been a quintessential 'good thing' -- if not for the fact that the minibot remembered _everything_.

Bright blue optics onlined with a start. Or, rather, they attempted to; one optic was covered with a thick shroud of cloth that refused to allow proper vision. The former secretaries' HUD claimed the optic itself simply wasn't there; the patch of cloth, it seemed, served to protect the delicate internal circuitry from the air and any wayward specs of dust. He wasn't quite certain why anyone would go to the trouble of applying it.

The remaining working optic slowly roved around the room in worried silence; Cliffjumper quickly realized that he was not in Shockwaves' room or any other place remotely familiar. The walls and ceiling bore a bright whitewash and the stench of antiseptic met his olfactory sensors; he was either in an asylum or a medical ward. He wasn't certain which he would have preferred.

An attempt to move revealed that his frame was strapped down with several thick metal bands. A deep, troubled frown crossed a gray and red faceplate only to fade in confusion at the realization that he wasn't feeling any pain.

In fact, a strange, numb calm slithered across every sense that he had; even the sight of his mangled arms -- wrapped where they ended with transparent, protective plastic -- couldn't evoke more than a slightly disgruntled sense of discontent.

Perhaps, the Autobot mused, he had been drugged.

"Hey." A soft voice called from nearby, barely above a whisper. "You okay over there?"

At the angle he was restrained, it took a rather uncomfortable backwards tilt of his helm to spot who was calling him. Another medical berth lay nearby; the figure atop it was restrained to the metal in a fashion similar to the way he was held. With the awkward angle, it took a moment to realize the other frame was a minibot; the first he had seen since before his capture. That is, other than Blurr and the corpse in the closet.

Perhaps the sedatives in his system kept him calm, but Cliffjumper couldn't quite bring himself to worry too deeply about the situation. "Hi."

The pale green minibot gave him a dubious stare; she -- and she was the first blue-eyed femme he had seen, as well, since Cybertron -- even bore the same protoform mold as himself. Perhaps it was the correlation, but she seemed strangely familiar. "Wow. The doc must've pumped you up good. You in any pain?"

"Uh.." It took longer than it should have to understand the question. "..Not really. Feels.. Weird, actually." He gave the green femme a scrutinizing stare; why she seemed so familiar suddenly became clear.. "Hey, you're.. Carerra, aren't you?"

The femmes' optics widened. "How -- Oh." The surprise faded to understanding. "You're Shockwaves' new pet, huh?"

Despite the drugs in his system, Cliffjumper bristled. "I'm _not --_" The fury fell apart with a drug-induced abruptness; he looked away from the other minibot and fell in to silence.

"You found the ID tags, didn't you?" Carerra, however, seemed intent on continuing the conversation. "So.. You his only one, right now?"

Cliffjumper didn't quite understand the question. "What?"

"His only prisoner, pet, slave.. Whatever you wanna call it. You his only one?"

A deep frown crossed his faceplate again; it took a depressed moment to answer. "..No. The slagger kidnapped someone else with me."

"Oh, good. Ol' one-eye isn't gonna try to rush the medic, then. You've got time to heal." The femme let out an audible intake.

If the petite minibot intended to calm him with those words, she failed miserably; Cliffjumper only frowned deeper, troubled by the idea of Blurr suffering alone. He tilted his helm back in the attempt to look to the pale green paint again. "What does it matter? The same thing's going to happen if I'm healed up or not."

Carerra let out a derisive snort. "Trust me, you'll be glad you had a couple of solar cycles to rest up after Scalpel fixes those arms and optic of yours. They sedate us, sure, but they don't really bother to use painkillers. Waste of resources."

"..Fantastic." Cliffjumper groaned, shuddering his working optic shut. After several seconds, he glanced back to get as proper view as he could at the femme. "You know, when we found the ID tags, we assumed you were all offline.."

"The others are, actually." A deep, saddened sigh came from the green femme. "Well, okay, I don't really know what happened to Hubcap, but the others.." She took in a deep, shaky intake. "..I saw the others offline with my own optics."

"I'm.. I'm sorry." Before his capture, Cliffjumper had been rude and abrasive on a regular basis; the empathy he felt now wasn't something he had often felt before. Before Blurr, he had never really felt sympathy at all; he found himself sputtering with emotions he wasn't used to processing. "What.. What happened to them?"

A long moment of silence passed. Despite the strange angle of his vision, the red minibot could clearly see the depression crossing the femmes' entire frame as she stared at the ceiling.

"Volks and I were captured together. We were security guards just escorting some rich Towers kid. We didn't even know Decepticons still existed, so we really didn't stand a chance when they attacked us. Volks, she.. She might've gone through training to do the job, but she was still.. Innocent, you know?"

Carerra paused a moment; her optics shut down with the misery the memories evoked. "Shockwave was pretty high ranking even back then, so he got us both easy. Hubcap was already in his room when he brought us there. He'd been there a while, actually.." A shuddering intake was taken and released. "Primus, we were so glad we had him there to warn us about everything that was gonna happen. He even tried to protect us a lot. Like some kind of.. Big brother.."

Cliffjumper shifted in the restraints and laid back in to as comfortable a position as he could; he found himself empathizing with the femmes' described relationship with the long-dead mech. His relationship with Blurr wasn't much different.

"..Anyway, not too long after Shockwave got us, he got hold of Windcharger. I think it was something like a month later that he got Fallback. I think it took Fallback joining us before we figured out that ol' one-eye had a.. A _thing _for minibots. I mean.." The femme let out a short, bitter laugh. "It's one thing to have a spark-slave, another to have a whole fraggin' _harem_. I don't think there was ever a night Shockwave _didn't_ 'face with one of us. Does he still have the cages in his room?"

The unexpected question took Cliffjumper by surprise; he sputtered a moment before he was able to answer. "What? He, Uh.. He locks us in a closet.."

"Huh." Carerra seemed to muse. "Guess with only two of you, there's no point. He'll get others, though, sooner or later, and then he'll get cages. There'll be others.." The green femme shook her head to clear it; her voice became quiet and subdued when she began to speak again. "It was half a decade before he got Tap-Out. He was a trained cyber-ninja, you know. How the 'cons even got him, I don't know, but Tap-Out.. I guess Shockwave considered him exotic or something, 'cause once the ninja-bot joined us, Shockwave fragged him every night for at least a month."

The femme let out a snort. "I still remember.. The first night Tap-Out was brought in.. The look on his face when we had to tell him _why _he was there.. And then Shockwave coming back and.. He looked right _at_ poor Tap-Out, right in the optics, and I was just too slagging _scared_ to try and help him and I guess the others were, too.. But he asked poor Tap-Out if cyber-ninjas were really as 'limber' as he had heard." A deep, un-femme-like snarl came from the petite green frame; it quickly died down back in to depression. "..I guess Tap-Out's ninja training made him stronger than the rest of us for him to do what he did.."

* * *

_A soft hum rent the air. The tone, although deep in voice, was even and almost melodic in nature; occasionally, the gentle voice would stop to take in a breath, but otherwise continued on unimpeded. The figure releasing the droning sound sat, unmoving, in a cross-legged position on the floor; fingers cupped together perched on still knees._

_ Tap-Out hadn't moved from his meditation for over an hour; he wouldn't move until bare cycles before Shockwave returned. He never did._

_ Nearby, five other figures sat amongst chairs that dwarfed them. Carerra and Volks sat huddled in the chaise, the slightly taller green femme fruitlessly attempting to comfort the shivering orange frame. Hubcap lay back in the chair in subdued silence, looking on as Windcharger laid back on the table with Fallbacks' help._

_ The gray and red mech hissed as he laid back and allowed Fallback to open his spark chamber. Burns were a common problem; luckily, the brown minibot had basic first aid training. He was the closest thing to a medic that they would get._

_ "Easy.. Easy, there, mate." Fallback frowned at his wincing friend; the burn gel he had found in what they had dubbed the 'Pit closet' was held in one hand. "Try not to move much, mate. We've only got 'bout twenty cycles 'fore Shockwave gets back, so we haveta do this fast."_

_ "Thanks, mech.." Windcharger hissed, optics shutting down at the first touch on his spark chamber. "I'm fine, though. The damage is three solar cycles old, already.. My self repair's should've fixed most of it by now.."_

_ "Stop complaining and let Fallback help you." Hubcap smirked; still, sadness marked his expression._

_ "Fine, fine.." The hissing mech dared to laugh. "I swear, you guys are like a bunch of mother micro-hens.."_

_ The brief chuckles that came from the joke died down in to an uneasy silence; the only sound that passed came from Tap-Outs' even humming and Windchargers' pain. Thankfully, the gel was applied with several minutes to spare and the gray chest plate was closed again without fear or hurry. Then, the five simply waited, occasionally glancing at the berthside clock or their own internal chronometers._

_ It was, sadly, simply another ordinary day._

_ The humming stopped at two cycles to; only then did Tap-Out stood and onlined his optics. After so long in captivity, the group had grown used to these actions and the near exact schedule that they kept._

_ Unusually, Tap-Out did not join them by the lounge. Instead, the olive cyber-ninja glared fiercely at the door._

_ "..Tap-Out?" Hubcap frowned, taking a single step towards his fellow captive. "..Tap-Out, mech, what are you doing?"_

_ There was no verbal response; the cyber-ninja glanced sideways at the bright yellow mech with an unchanging expression before looking back to the door._

_ The door slid open with a soft hiss. _

_ As soon as it did, Tap-Out moved; with grace and speed only a bot with his training would have had, the minibot crouched and leapt, foot outstretched. The figure he aimed at didn't have time to move; with a resounding clatter, Shockwave let out a shocked yell and fell back._

_ Tap-Out didn't stop moving; he turned and ran down the hall._

_ "Tap-Out!" Hubcap gasped before trying to follow suit; the rest of his companions roused and rushed behind him._

_ Unfortunately, Shockwave was not rendered unconscious by the blow; he stood hurriedly, catching the sudden rush of Autobots in his claws. Thick, sharp talons pushed at the yelling and struggling minibots; they were shoved back inside their prison, but not before they had seen the trail of pink._

_ In the few short seconds they had been in the hall, Tap-Out had managed to knock down and slaughter several Decepticons that had been in his way. As the door slid shut, the five could do nothing more than stare at the sealed off entryway; yells and screams could be heard from the other side._

_ "..Holy.. Holy slag.." Carerra sputtered in shock. "Do.. Do you think he'll really.. He'll really escape?"_

_ "Wonder why he didn't tell us he was going to do that.." Volks mused aloud in a stunned whisper._

_ The cacophony from the hall went on for several long cycles more. After nearly five minutes of what was doubtless chaos from the other side, the volume rose with a sudden clamor before dying down with a swift halt. The prisoners exchanged worried glances._

_ The door slid open again. Shockwave stood there, shaking and fuming; behind him, a Decepticon walked by, dragging a small gray frame behind him. A trail of pink was left in its' wake._

_ Volks let out a shrill wail of despair and buried herself in the arms of a horrified Hubcap._

_ "No, no.. Tap-Out.. No, no, no.." Windcharger moaned._

* * *

"..Three solar cycles later, on the way to our daily ration, Windcharger grabbed the gun from a passing Decepticon and shot himself in the head. He was offline before he hit the floor."

Cliffjumper stared at the ceiling with a wide, horrified optic; the tale had thus far rendered him unable to speak and sent his frame shuddering. He knew that the femmes' past could very well be his future.

"I think Windchargers' suicide broke Fallback. The next morning, he started laughing and just.. Didn't stop." Carerra had long since fallen in to a whisper. "I don't know where the 'cons took him, but they dragged him away while he was still laughing. Never saw him again." She let out a deep, mournful breath. "It was maybe a stellar cycle later when all the femme slaves were rounded up. The last of the Allspark energy was gone.. Or, at least, that's what the 'cons said. So they took us all away to what the slaggers' called the 'breeding sector'. Couldn't even tell you how many brats they forced out of me since then."

Cliffjumper opened and closed his mouth several times at this revelation; still, he was unable to form a proper response through the horror locking up his frame.

"That's where Volks offlined. She was smaller than I was.. Smaller than most minibots, even. After the fifth one, she just couldn't take it. Offlined underneath some slagging 'con.." Carerra took in a deep intake; not once had the femme's voice risen or choked up with an emotion greater than base bitterness. "Never found out what happened to Hubcap. Couldn't even tell you if he's still online or not."

"He.. He's.." Cliffjumper sputtered; a shock-hazed mind was entirely too compounded with horror to rethink his words. "..He's not. When.. Hubcap's been in the closet. His body was there when we got there."

There was a moment of silence. Then, the femme let out a deep, sorrowful keen.

"Oh.. _Hubcap_.."

Only then did Carerra begin to cry.

* * *

_I'm reaching out for something_

_Touching nothing's all I ever do_

_Oh, I softly call you over_

_When you appear, there's nothing left of you, uh-huh_

_Now, the man in the back is ready to crack_

_As he raises his hands to the sky_

_And the girl in the corner is everyone's mourner_

_She could kill you with the wink of her eye_

_Oh, yeah, it was electric_

_So frightfully hectic_

_And the band starting leaving_

_'Cause they all stopped breathing_

-- 'Ballroom Blitz', Sweet

* * *

..I seriously watched 'how to do an Australian accent' on youtube for Fallbacks' few lines. XD


	15. Chapter 15

Author notes: This is a bit of a dull chapter. It kinda just helps me move the plot along. Sorry about that; your regularly scheduled chaos will resume next chapter.

This would have been out sooner if I didn't get sick with the flu. I got sick exactly two hours after the last chapter was put up, and I'm still sick. I am highly annoyed by this.

Also, I blame a friend I will simply call Red Alice for the Decepticon medic's accent. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, RED ALICE.

Also, in case anyone was wondering: I haven't used a single OC yet. Granted, Carrerra and Volks don't TECHNICALLY exist, but, uh.. They have toys. So, there. Nya.

Respond time, wheee!

Blackmoondragon: Yeah, things are going to get a little crazy for a while. :D It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

Tugera: ..You make me seriously tempted to write a minific about the six. Just to make you keep going "squeeee" at minibot ninja.

Deathcomes4u: Fallback is actually Outback, who is an australian minibot. My brain insisted on keeping it as true to the original as possible. XD

* * *

_Enemy, familiar friend_

_My beginning and my end_

_Knowing truth, whispering lies_

_And it hurts again_

_What I fear, what I try_

_The words I say and what I hide_

_All the pain, I want it to end_

_And it finds me_

_The fight inside is coursing through my veins_

_And it's raging_

_The fight inside is breaking me again_

-- 'Fight Inside', Red

**Souvenir: Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

Rodimus Prime was not looking forward to meeting with the Magnus. In fact, he was outright dreading the conference; if he hadn't been under orders to report his findings, he likely would not have even bothered. After all, this was not a Magnus known for compassion or understanding.

The Prime contemplated just how unlucky the poor captured bots had to be for Sentinel Magnus to be in charge of their fates. Ultra Magnus, at least, would have read the message; so far, Sentinel had refused even that basic essential.

So, here he was, about to try and convince Sentinel -- arguably the last person anyone would want to have a debate with -- that an email from a Decepticon address was worth risking an attack on the nigh-almighty flagship to rescue a total of two mechs.

Frankly, he was surprised he was let in.

As the red and gold Prime entered the small antechamber with what he hoped was an outwardly calm disposition, his processor reeled over recently learned information. The very suggestion that there enemies used prisoners of war in such a way was a serious accusation; it was the sort of thing that chased away recruits and struck fear in to their officers.

He would have to be very careful with his words; the last thing he wanted was for Sentinel to accuse him of trying to cause a panic.

The lit up screens behind the temporary Magnus instantly calmed some of his fears; the digital faces of several Council members looked on from some faraway location. Although Sentinel was not known for his intelligence, the Council was the practical epitome of sense and order. If even one of them would listen, then there was a chance.

"So, I'm told you think that the Decepticon email has some valuable information." Sentinel, naturally, began the proceedings with a raised brow and self-righteous sarcasm. "So, what's in this wonderful email? Battle plans, weapons information?"

"Actually, sir, it _did_ have information regarding an attack we otherwise would not have known about." Rodimus was surprised Primus had granted him that little conversational foothold to climb up on. "The 'cons could have easily gotten hold of a space bridge if we never got this."

Sentinel continued to stare with skepticism. "What you're saying, Rodimus Prime, is that some Decepticon sent valuable attack information to every high-ranking Autobot by _accident_?"

"The message isn't from a Decepticon. It's from an Autobot prisoner." Rodimus stared at the temporary Magnus, hoping the pompous blue mech would at least consider what he was saying.

Unfortunately, a laugh responded to his words. "An Autobot prisoner? Oh, come on, everyone knows the 'cons don't take prisoners! Let me guess, they're asking for help, pulling on your spark-strings with some sob story?"

Rodimus took in a deep intake to settle himself; he hadn't expected Sentinel to take the situation seriously, but was still annoyed. "Magnus, sir --"

"The little bit of information they gave was probably just to make it almost believable!" Sentinel smirked.

"This seems like a very convoluted trap, even by your theory, Sentinel Magnus." One of the Councilbots -- Rodimus thought his name was Mainframe -- blinked widely behind a translucent visor on screen. "We have to at least consider that there might be some truth in this. The ramifications of what he's saying are very serious."

"Why?" Sentinel grinned. "It's obviously fake! I bet it even has some fake Autobot name in it that isn't even in our database!"

Rodimus let out a soft sigh; his words came out in a dejected mumble, almost as an afterthought. "The bot says his name is Cliffjumper." He doubted it mattered to Sentinel.

Much to the Prime's surprise, the temporary Magnus turned to stare at the flame-decaled mech with sudden anger. "_What_ did you just say?"

"Uh.." Rodimus sputtered; a quick glance showed that the Councilbots were just as surprised by the change. "The.. The email. He says his name is Cliffjumper."

Sentinel stared at the Prime for a long moment with wide optics, frame going rigid and still. He appeared to be in shock.

Rodimus wasn't quite certain what had just happened.

"..What did the message say?" This time, none of the sanctimonious smugness laced the Magnus's words. Instead, it was quiet and subdued; serious.

"..Uh.." Rodimus boggled for a brief moment; he had to physically shake himself off and use a datapad as reference just to form coherent thought. "The email.. It said it's from a bot by the name of Cliffjumper and that he and a Special Agent by the name of Blurr were both captured when Shockwave was found out. Shockwave himself took them and further research revealed that at least Cliffjumper was kidnapped right out of Elite Guard headquarters."

There was a long moment of silence; Rodimus had assumed that the Council members would display the shock and disbelief that was along their faceplates, but he had not expected the horror that was so clear on the temporary Magnus's form.

Had Sentinel _known _this 'Cliffjumper'?

"Do we know if they're still online?" Sentinel nearly whispered.

"We're.. We're fairly sure that they are, actually." Rodimus continued to glance at the datapad; he was suddenly unsure about how much really needed to be said. "The message itself said that they.. They're being held as slaves. That a bunch of other bots are, too."

"If this_ is_ true.." A Council femme Rodimus couldn't recall the name of frowned. "If this is all true, this changes everything that we know about how Decepticon treat their prisoners of war."

"Prisoners of war? If this Cliffjumper was kidnapped out of our own headquarters, that goes beyond 'prisoners of war'." Mainframe stammered. "That.. That goes right in to 'let's kidnap civilians' territory. What was his occupation?"

"Personal assistant." Sentinel answered before Rodimus could, earning several surprised stares. "Cliffjumper's a personal assistant."

"A.. A _secretary_?!" The femme gaped. "Are you telling us, Rodimus Prime, that a Decepticon double-agent just decided _on a whim_ to kidnap a secretary on the way out?"

"I.. It looks that way, yeah." Rodimus shifted in place. "We have security footage of the actual kidnapping."

"Show us." Alpha Trion himself finally spoke, outrage in his optics but not in his voice. "I, for one, want to see this. Show us the footage."

* * *

A few hours later, the Decepticon medic -- with a shrill, high-pitched voice and a bizarre accent -- had proclaimed the femme 'fit to work'. Cliffjumper shuddered to think what that 'work' entailed. Still, he had looked towards the green minibot when a pair of large, bulky Decepticons came to take her away; he doubted he would ever see her again.

Guiltily, he found himself terribly glad that he wasn't a femme.

As the large mechs unstrapped the petite frame from the table, he tried to get a proper view of her, shifting in his own restraints in the effort; he wanted to get at least one good image of her to remember her by. He wanted to remember her.

That, and there was still one thing that he absolutely needed to know.

"Does this ever get better?"

Miraculously, the escorts allowed her to turn and look back. A deep, resigned sadness crossed her faceplate. "No. No, it doesn't. But, after a while, you kind of go numb."

Then, Carerra was gone. Cliffjumper followed her with his optics; she glanced back a final time before the doors slid shut.

A long moment after she was gone, Cliffjumper slowly looked to the ceiling. The relative silence allowed the former secretary to be alone with his thoughts. He didn't like where his processor took him.

He had never been a religious mech. Yet, he now found himself praying for something, anything to happen that would get him out of this mess. There simply wasn't anything left for him to grab on to; all that remained was Blurrs' companionship and the core of his own spark.

Well, that, and the emails.

Cliffjumpers' optics brightened at the sudden thought; he hadn't been certain if the message had even made it to the Autobots. He had wanted to see if his warning about the attack on Sector Tallories would be responded to before making a conclusion; he had simply been unwilling to bring his own hopes too far up.

Had Shockwave left for that attack? If he had -- and the timing seemed entirely too coincidental not to be one in the same --, then it was clear that the Decepticons had been defeated in that battle.

There was no other explanation; or, at least, none he was willing to consider. His message must have been received. The Autobots must have read the email and responded to it. If the first message had been received, then, logically, others would be as well.

Resolve strengthened within his spark; if he was going to be held against his will, he could at least strike back by sending back every shred of information he could get.

The soft hiss of the sliding door derailed his train of thought; at the sight of the tall, ever-frightening form of Shockwave walking in, his entire processor screeched to complete halt. Cliffjumper could only stare with wide, petrified optics as the cyclops glared back.

Despite the shapeshifters' lack of facial features, Shockwave still managed to radiate fury. Claws lingered a moment too long at one of the numerous stab wounds adorning the purple frame; they were still very clear and bore the marks of recent repairs.

From the corner of his vision, Cliffjumper caught sight of a chained blue mech peeking in; a quick glance to the hall revealed intense relief spreading across Blurrs' face a brief second before the door slid shut again.

He then looked back to Shockwave in terrified silence; he was in an even more helpless position than usual, chained down and unarmed in every sense of the word.

After what felt like a very long cycle, Shockwave looked away. "Scalpel?"

"Ah, hallo!" That high-pitched, accented voice responded from somewhere behind the head of the berth; Cliffjumper tilted his helm back, but couldn't catch sight of the mech in question. "Commander Shockvafe!"

Shockwave seemed annoyed at the mispronunciation.

A series of clicks echoed in the room; then, something very small leapt very quickly from the floor to a chair and then on to a mangled, red-plated arm.

The small creature was certainly Cybertronian, but what, exactly, it was left Cliffjumper baffled; the minibot counted a half-dozen legs sticking out of an insectile body. Large, red optics behind a pair of tiny glasses glanced briefly at him before looking up at Shockwave.

"Ya, ya.. I am still repairink your minibot, Shockvafe." Thin legs shifted slightly.

"And when can I expect to have my slave back in my custody?" Shockwave glared again at blue optics; Cliffjumper tried to glare back.

"Faw veeks." The apparent medic huffed.

"..What?" Shockwave quickly looked to the stout bot.

"Serrty solah cycles." Scalpel restated in that thick accent. "Maw or less. Minibot parts are very hart to come by." The small medic crawled along the berth and stopped by his helm; a slight shudder ran along Cliffjumpers' frame as a single, thinly pointed digit tapped at his brow above the shrouded optic. "Yaw little minibot hass small optics. Very small. I haff seen sparklinks vit biggah optics!" The medic took let out a deep, annoyed huff. "Ont minibots haff very dense vire clusters. It vill take at least _faw veeks _to get un replacement even in standart red!"

Cliffjumper was somewhat surprised he understood what the medic was saying.

"Unacceptable." Shockwave fumed. "Surely, there's a way to work around this."

"Hmmm.." Scalpel managed to stroke his chin despite neither having proper servos or a normal face. "I can, I suppose, put in some'ssing to protect da vires. Howevah, yaw minibot voult still be hoff blint."

"Good enough." Shockwave grumbled. "How fast can you install the temporary optic?"

"Few cycles." Scalpel seemed to shrug; the drone-like mech then leapt back to the floor. "Un moment." With the clacking of tiny legs, the medic quickly sped off in to a connected room.

There was a brief moment filled with the sounds of things being moved, shifted and thrown; even a spare, high-pitched swear rent the air before the medic let out a triumphant cackle. Then, the medic quickly zipped back in to the main room and leapt back atop the mobile berth. A thin, shaped piece of black glass was held within tiny claws.

Cliffjumper gave the glass a worried look; his remaining optic widened as the tiny medic took hold of the cloth over the injured half of his helm and wrenched it off. As soon as his naked wound hit the air, he hissed and winced in pain.

Then, Scalpel abruptly shoved the glass in to the empty socket; the minibot yelped in shock. Still, the pain abated once there was something between delicate circuitry and the air; Cliffjumper squinted several times in the attempt to adjust to the odd replacement.

He couldn't see through the black pane glass; the distraction almost allowed him to miss the small welding torch held up to his face.

"Hold un head, pleaze." Scalpel chirped a little too happily.

Thick claws set themselves on either side of his helm and held firm; Cliffjumper shut his working optic offline, grit his dentals, and braced for pain.

The world literally lit afire; in the sudden white haze of pain, the minibot lost track of time. He simply focused on enduring it and tried to distract himself by not screaming.

When the pain abated enough to think again, he dimly realized that his helm had been free for several cycles. Reality returned to hear the medic speak; he was learning to hate that high-pitched voice.

" -- But hiss servo'ss are un lost cause. _Dat _voult haff to be built from scratch. But! I can also install un stopper. Yaw minibot voult simply be vitout hiss servo'ss for vun mont. Hold un arm, pleaze."

This time, Cliffjumper let out a loud swear as the pain resurfaced in what was left of one of his arms; it wasn't quite as horrid as the similarly performed surgery in his helm, but it still hurt terribly.

A portion of his processor that still clung to protective sarcasm and humor hoped that he would never have to endure internal repairs from this medic.

* * *

_It's nothing_

_It's everything_

_And it finds me_

_The fight inside is coursing through my veins_

_And it's raging_

_The fight inside is hurting me again_

_And it finds me_

_The war within me pulls me under_

-- 'Fight Inside', Red

* * *

Author notes: ..If anyone's wondering, that accent is SUPPOSED to be ultra-bad-stereotypical German. My apologies to anyone I may have offended, but Scalpel.. Really does have that accent in the movies. XD

..Holy crap, how are we at fifteen chapters, I don't even..


	16. Chapter 16

Author notes: Short chapter. Wanted to focus on Blurr for this one, and just.. Moving stuff along, again. You may need tissues for this one.

Also, I'm starting a new job next week. Some poor saps actually HIRED me. We'll see if this effects my writing time or not.

..I have too many hobbies, right now.

RESPOND TIME. WOOHOO!

JJStar: I didn't so much as 'tackle' the accent as IM a friend and went, "HAY, you're good at this accent, TRANSLATE FOR ME."

Little Miss Molly: I'm healthy again! :D *slurps the soup* It cured me, your soup did!

* * *

_Deep in the night_

_Boundless violence will seethe with the danger_

_Our laws collide_

_Not allowing another contender_

_When the wine drinks itself_

_You will burn to a cinder_

_We're fighting time awaiting the answers.._

_Is there a way to turn the mind of a barbaric stranger?_

_Eternal days awaiting for you to awake_

_My avenger_

_A cruel fate now condemns us to_

_Burn to a cinder_

_Are we too late, running on empty?_

_I'll never let them stake you down_

_(Take you down)_

_I'll fight to find a way out there_

_It must be hard_

_I'll never let them break you now_

_(Forsake you, now)_

_Keep holding on!_

-- 'Burn to a Cinder', Epica

**Souvenir: Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

Cliffjumper was _alive_.

Blurr all but collapsed in the chains and tethers that hooked him to the wall as he caught the barest glimpse of the red minibot; absolute joy filled his spark with the knowledge that his dear friend hadn't gone offline. The speedsters' blue frame shook as he slowly slid against the wall, hugging himself as he sat on the cold steel floor. A wide grin crossed his faceplate as the realization settled in.

The joy was so great, he could have wept.

When he had seen the pink fluid coating the room that was both Shockwaves' home and his torture chamber, he had feared the worst; the sight of the mangled, shredded limbs had all but convinced him that Cliffjumper was dead. Even when the cyclopian Decepticon had returned a bare few minutes later, sporting newly repaired but obvious stab wounds, the captive Elite Guard had begun to mourn. At the time, it simply hadn't occurred to him that the Decepticons would go to the trouble of repairing them.

He could have laughed with the knowledge that Cliffjumper wasn't yet in the Well if he hadn't been so afraid to make noise.

For what felt like a long time, Blurr waited, blue arms wrapped around his own midsection and ignoring bots that passed by. The jubilance was stubbornly clung to with the knowledge that he likely wouldn't feel such happiness for a very long time, if ever again.

Eventually, the door slid open; the speedster looked up at the tell-tale hiss, barely able to keep the grin off his face. He wasn't certain how Shockwave would react to his glee and he did not want to find out.

As the hatefully familiar violet mech strode out of the medical bay, a shrill voice followed.

"Come back tomorrow oftah'noon, Shockvafe! Yaw minibot should be goot to go den!" Blurr stood and tried to look inside to see what sort of creature could emit such a high pitch voice, but only caught sight of something small scurrying in to another room. "Ont, _you_, ztop movink! I _vill_ sedate you again if you don't lie dahn!"

Shockwave shook his head in visible annoyance as he unlatched the chain link leash from the wall. Blurr glanced to the open door again as he was led away; he caught sight of a stunned Cliffjumper before the door slid shut again.

As he was led through the halls, an accelerated processor mulled over what had been learned; not only was Cliffjumper still alive, but the red minibot was actually free of Shockwaves' ministrations for the time being. It was a small respite, but it was better than nothing. It was certainly better than the alternative.

As long as they were alive, he was convinced that there was hope. Death was the penultimate end; as long as they stayed online and sane, there was a chance they could escape the nightmare that had become their lives.

The speedster didn't even pay attention to where the chain around his neck pulled him; the past while had become so routine that he knew where he was going without even looking up. Instead, blue optics gazed at the floor, unwilling to see the red optics that almost always spared an appreciative leer in his direction or the broken, enslaved husks that had once been Autobots.

It didn't take particularly long to reach Shockwaves' room; they had already gone through morning rations and a large portion of the day. All that was left were the several hours wait before the typical evening torment; a shudder ran along his frame simply thinking about it.

Blurr did not resist as clawed servos unlatched the collar from his throat; he barely even heard the useless comment his self-proclaimed master left before the door slid shut, thoughts affixed on other things. He sat down by the window without much thought; it took a very long moment to realize that something wasn't quite right.

Finally, he had the sense to look around the room; the mess of lifeblood had been cleaned and things set back to their proper places. For the most part, everything appeared ordinary, or as ordinary as the situation allowed. It took real focus to realize what the problem was.

It was far too quiet.

Without a companion attempting to distract him with meaningless conversation or burns that needed tending, there was no sound save for any made by his own frame. There was nothing to keep him from thinking about things he rather not think about or to keep him from giving the doubt deep within his spark from growing.

He wondered if it was wrong to hope Cliffjumper returned. There was nothing but suffering in Shockwaves' clutches, but a deep sense of loneliness had begun to form that he didn't like. He wondered if it was wrong to want someone to be here with him.

Blurr curled up on the chaise and pulled up his knees; cerulean hands covered his faceplate. There was no doubt what would happen when Shockwave returned; no matter how many times it happened or how often, it always hurt. It always started with a deep, vicious pain that ebbed only when he was rendered unconscious. Yet, the pain never, ever vanished completely.

He hated it. He feared it. He wanted to fight, but feared the repercussions.

He felt as if he were dying.

The clock chimed in warning. Blue optics looked up in surprise; he hadn't realized so much time had passed. The chaise was abandoned in favor of the far corner, away from both the lounge and the horrible closets.

As expected, the door slid open several short cycles later. Shockwave barely made a sound as he walked in, perused the shelf of novels, and laid back on the chaise.

Sixty cycles to go. Blurr took in a deep, quiet intake and tried to think of other things. He hugged his knees and looked to the floor.

The wait was almost as terrible as the act itself; the knowing ate away at his processor and sent stress glitches throughout his system. Silent shudders ran along the speedsters' frame as he unconsciously counted the seconds.

It felt like far too soon when the clock chimed again. Heavy footsteps echoed in the small apartment, first towards the shelf and then slowly, steadily, closer. With his gaze aimed to the floor, Blurr caught the brief glimpse of strangely shaped, cloven pedes before shutting his optics off completely.

Thick, sharp claws grasped his shoulder and lifted him up; he let out a single, weak twist in the clawed grip. The struggle was vaguely reminiscent of the flat, scaled creatures he had once had the privilege of seeing on Earth, the sort that let out a single, desperate flail as they hung dying on barbed hooks. The minute struggle were symbolic at best.

There simply wasn't much point in fighting; the same thing happened either way. A battle would only wear him out; he had to keep his strength in case a miracle happened that let him escape.

Optics remained dark and offline as thick claws led him to the berth. As Shockwave laid him back on the plush fabric, Blurr wondered, again, if it was wrong to not want to suffer alone.

He wondered if it was wrong, selfish even, to want someone else there to take Shockwaves' attention away from him.

It was all so horrid that he actually wished he was back on that mud ball of a planet, even if it meant being back under the control of Master Disaster. At least that revolting little human hadn't demanded all of _this_.

Thinking about Earth made him think of those he had met there and left behind. As claws trailed his frame, touching and stroking trembling metal, Blurr wondered if he would ever see any of them again. He wondered if he would ever see anyone friendly ever again.

Then, pain enveloped everything.

More than anything else, he missed his creators.

* * *

_I'll never let them break you, now_

_(Forsake you now)_

_Keep holding on and.._

_Give me answers to my prayers_

_We'll never hide, we'll face the glare_

_You're the light I see to_

_Raise the flame and blaze the fire_

_Give me answers to my prayers_

_We'll carry the weight to bear_

_Give me sight to see_

_I know a way is there to keep the flame_

-- 'Burn to a Cinder', Epica


	17. Chapter 17

Author notes: So, my new job WILL apparently interfere with my writing time. Whoops. Expect future chapters to be a bit more spread apart; at the end of the work day, my brain just refuses to cooperate the way it usually does. YAY FOR WEEKENDS.

Also, online thesaurus things are awesome. I'm using dictionary-grade words, here. Tintinnabulation IS a word and I managed to USE it, so HA.

Respond time, YAY.

Evil E. Evil: ..You're the second person to ask. I don't know yet. My brain is amused enough by the request to consider it, though, so.. Who knows.

Blackmoondragon: Your guess is as good as mine with the creators. But, really, everyone cries out for their parents at the worst of times, don't they?

* * *

_I heard someone crying_

_Who, though, could it be?_

_Maybe it was mother_

_Calling out, 'come see'!_

_Maybe it was father_

_All alone and lost and cold_

_I heard someone crying_

_Maybe it was me_

_Maybe I was dreaming of _

_A garden growing far below_

_Maybe I was dreaming of a life_

_That I will never know_

-- 'I Heard Someone Crying', The Secret Garden (Broadway)

**Souvenir: Chapter Seventeen**

* * *

Cybertronians were known to live for an extraordinarily long amount of time. To most species in the universe, the concept of living for thousands of years was simply an impossibility; for both Autobot and Decepticon kinds, a thousand years could seem like nothing more than a moment.

Yet, despite having already lived for several thousands of years, one month seemed like an impossibly long stretch of time to Cliffjumper. Once the pain abated enough to realize what the bizarre medic had proclaimed, the minibot found that he did not like the idea of being half blind and without use of his servos for what would ordinarily have been the proverbial blink of an optic.

He needed his hands. His servos had become a fundamental piece of equipment in recent days; after all, it wasn't as if he could fight Shockwave with his feet or access the communication console with only his processor. To have to wait a month to be able to resist properly bothered him a great deal.

A glance was sent towards what was left of his butchered limbs. He wasn't entirely certain when the odd medic had finished the temporary repairs, having been rendered incoherent from the pain, but flat, slate gray metal caps now ended both wrists. Blocky, dull gray plates of unpainted metal had been set around the torn off armor around his delicate protoform and gave his arms a mismatched look. If his transformation cogs hadn't already been locked, he doubted he would have been able to shift in to vehicle mode with his arms the way they were.

With a deep sigh, the red minibot looked back to the ceiling. A quick glance at his chronometer claimed it was still early morning; he had quite a few hours left to go before he would be sent back to Shockwave.

There wasn't any other course of action but to hold out the best he could until his hands were repaired; Cliffjumper brightened his own spark with the idea of sending back a message as soon as he had servos to type with. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could gain valuable information in that months' time.

A deep intake was taken; a month still seemed boundless, but having a goal helped to ease his troubled mind.

A sudden clatter broke the restrained minibot from his musings; what was left of his optics instantly darted to the sound with deep worry. It took a long few seconds to spot the insectile medic crawling along the floor with a generic first-aid kit lifted above him. Without a word, Scalpel leapt from the floor to the berth in a single bound.

Cliffjumper stared at the medic, optic wide in fear. His arms and optic were still pained; what else did the strange mech intend to do?

Scalpel began to hum a happy tune as he set the white box by the minibots' legs. Miniscule claws opened the box and began to pull out tools he didn't recognize; each one was set aside in a neat row. Then, pointed legs scurried atop a red chassis and stopped below the line of his spark chamber.

Still humming that cheerful song, Scalpel grasped for the latches and tugged them loose.

"The slag are you doing?" Cliffjumper sputtered, more curious than alarmed. Somehow, he wasn't worried that the medic would hurt him in the manner Shockwave often did; the tiny mech was simply too small.

"I, zilly minibot, am goink to vix yaw spahk chamber. Dere iss probably all zorts uff nasty burns in dere." With that, the black pane glass that protected his very core was yanked off.

Despite the surprisingly gentle manner in which the strange medic performed the action, a shudder still ran along Cliffjumpers' frame. Scalpel's finely pointed legs, scampering along his body the way they were, was far too similar to Shockwaves' claws; the only thing that stopped his processor from spiraling in to nightmarish recollection was the high-pitched tune that continued to squeak out of the medics' microscopic synthesizer.

"Vat in... Oh ho ho!" It took a moment to realize the high-pitched squealing was actually laughter. "Sneaky, cleffer little minibot! Zhis gel, zhis, right hee-ah..." A finely tipped digit scraped along the rim of his spark chamber; Cliffjumper hissed as it brushed along forgotten burns. When he was able to focus his remaining working optic again, a silver talon -- coated in a translucent gel -- was bare inches from his face. "Zhis, it safed yaw _life_! Cleffer, cleffer little minibot.. Usink buhn gel to protect from Shockvafe's spahk!" Scalpel shook his head and laughed again. "Cleffer, cleffer, cleffer.."

Then, the miniscule mech began to hum again and grasped hold of his namesake tool.

* * *

Despite how much Cliffjumper abhorred the Decepticon medic, it still felt like far too soon when Shockwave returned. The captive Autobot bristled against still active sedatives as Scalpel made small-talk with the shapeshifter; the fact that they had the gall to do so while wicked claws clasped that hated collar around his neck stirred the familiar anger deep within his spark.

Yet, he did not resist as Shockwave nudged him off the medical berth; he didn't say a word. Earlier made plans and a deep, untouchable hate were clung to instead; all he spared his kidnapper was a venomous glare.

Of course, Blurr was waiting in the hall when the minibot was led out; he would have been concerned if he wasn't. Worry clearly covered the speedsters' frame from toe to tip; Cliffjumper simply shook his head and offered a small, sad smile. The silent actions managed to send the message across; a blue hand gently patted his back as they neared each other.

They had never discussed why they maintained silence around Shockwave; they had never needed to. Somehow, they had both reached the same decisions without having to. Perhaps it was a basic, primal survival code running deep in their processors that caused the basic protective instinct; neither bothered to think too deeply about it.

"Commander Shockvafe!"

The high pitched call caused the towering mech to stop and turn. "Hmm?"

"Here, put zhis on da minibot at night time." Scalpel deftly tossed a capped bottle through the air; nimble claws caught it easily. "It vill decreaze za burns eighty to eighty-fife percent! Den you vill not haff to vorry about killink yaw minibot durink interfaze time zo much."

"Really, now?" A large red optic glanced at the bottle before looking down to the medic. "Well, it will certainly be put to good use."

"Yaw welcome." Scalpel chirped happily before scurrying back through the sliding door.

Shockwave gave the bottle in his claws a momentary glance. Then, with a soft shrug, he began to walk away with the tail end of both leashes firmly gripped in a single servo.

For the most part, silence reigned on the way to Shockwaves' home. The only sound that penetrated the hall along the way had been a shrill, agonizing shriek; shudders ran along both imprisoned Autobots frames as they heard it.

As usual, Shockwave left them alone as soon as they were inside the small apartment. As soon as the towering cyclops exited the room, Blurr all but leapt on to his smaller companion.

"Oh, Primus, Cliffjumper, I was so scared, I thought he had _killed_ you and I didn't know what to do and there was energon everywhere and I'm so, so, so, _so _sorry for not being able to help you but I didn't know what to do..!" With that, the speedster burst in to deep, hiccuping sobs.

For a moment, Cliffjumper could only stand there in surprise. Reflex caused the smaller mech to attempt to comfort his friend and pat his back; the flat end of a wrist came down on blue metal instead.

Blurr pulled back and grabbed hold of his companions' arms; wide optics stared at them in horror. "Oh, Primus, your servos, your optic..!"

However, Cliffjumper's line of sight was not on his shocked friend; instead, his remaining optic stared at something behind the cerulean mech.

It took a moment for Blurr to notice with his mind compounded with the injuries his friend had suffered. When he did, however, he turned to stare at what caught the red mechs' interest.

"..The slag is that?" The speedster boggled; he pulled away from Cliffjumper and walked towards what appeared to be a large, transparent box in the back of the room. "It looks like some kind of strange fish tank without any water and why do you suppose it has a padlocked door on it?"

"I don't even know what you just said, Blurr." Cliffjumper responded slower than usual as he stepped towards the transparent box. "I.. I think it's a cage."

"A cage?" Blurr repeated, frowning at the notion. "A cage for what?"

Cliffjumper took in a deep intake; he hadn't been prepared for Carerra's words to haunt him so soon. Horror caused a numb shock to coat his being. "For more of.. Well, us."

A white faceplate frowned deeply and stared at the shellshocked minibot. "You.. You really think the slagger is already planning to kidnap someone else?"

"Carerra's alive. I met her while I was getting repaired." Cliffjumper continued to stare at the box. "She said that Shockwave would get cages and that there would be more."

Blurr's optics widened in surprise. "Carerra? The femme with the ID tag in the closet..? I assumed she was offline since she wasn't still here.."

"They took all the femmes to the breeding sector." The words came out in a quiet, deadpan whisper.

"_What?!_" Blurr openly gaped at this information. "For the love of Primus, is there anything these slaggers _don't_ do?!"

* * *

Eventually, Shockwave returned. The schedule the two captives had grown accustomed to appeared to be back in place; as soon as the shapeshifter was through the door, he made his way for the shelf.

The two Autobots huddled together between the wall and the transparent cage; Blurr physically clung to his red companion as if he would vanish. Cliffjumper had nothing he could hold on with, so he simply leaned against his frightened friend.

The hour ended with the atypical tintinnabulation; neither of the two captives moved when Shockwave approached and leered down at them.

The cyclops came to his decision quicker than usual; claws reached out and grasped for a disfigured red arm. At once, Cliffjumper twisted and flailed.

Blurr cried out in alarm and clung to his struggling friend. "Stop, please, take me instead, he was only just repaired --"

A clawed servo pushed the speedster in to the tank before he even realized the door had been open. By the time he was able to get his chained pedes in order, the lock had already been closed and locked shut. Blue and white fists pounded on the walls; the plexiglass muffled the noise.

Cliffjumper dug his feet in to the floor in the attempt to pull himself free, but it had about the same effect it always did; his struggles lasted for barely a few minutes before the minibot was pushed and held on to the berth. Despite no longer having hands, both wrists were easily held above his head underneath a single large servo.

For the first time, Cliffjumper stopped fighting; he went limp, working optic offlined and dentals grit even as his tormenter settled atop him. The glass protecting his spark chamber was quickly unlatched and set aside.

Then, something very cold and very unlike Shockwaves' spark was being set on the rim of his spark chamber. The strange, very uncomfortable sensation caused his optic to snap online again and look up in confused terror.

The claw not holding him down gripped the bottle the medic had given him; the thin tube slowly ran along the sensitive rim, carefully applying an opaque, teal gel along the way. The slow speed and careful administration of the chill liquid reminded the bound minibot of Blurrs' attempts at aid; a shudder ran along his frame at the unconscious comparison.

It was as if Shockwave purposefully tore through what had almost been a pleasant memory. It felt as if Shockwave wanted to take everything away and leave nothing good in his wake.

Unwilling to follow this train of thought, Cliffjumper shut off his optic again and turned his head away; he reminded himself for what felt to be the millionth time that, despite it all, he still had a goal and a purpose. There was still a way to fight against the terrible injustice being committed; he simply had to endure and survive the atrocities for one more month.

He told himself that the entire night.

* * *

_I heard someone crying_

_Though, I can't say who_

_Someone in this house_

_With nothing left to do_

_I heard someone crying_

_Maybe it was you!_

-- 'I Heard Someone Crying', The Secret Garden (Broadway)


	18. Chapter 18

Author notes: I shouldn't be trying to write things during the work week. I am SO sleepy.

It's a bit of a.. Slow chapter. Next chapter, things will get crazy.

I am personally proud of myself for this song choice. XD

RESPOND TIME

Dotskip317: ..Was that.. Good or bad?

Reka1207: I so was not expecting people to actually look up any of these songs. XD Half of them just have FRAGMENTS that are applicable. Like this song below.

Peacewish: Your review left me stunned, amazed, and fluffed my ego so much, you have no idea. I hope I don't disappoint, then, with future chapters. And this thing STARTED as a Blurr-centric ting when it formed in my head, but my brain changed things. I learned not to argue with what my brain shows me; it's better for everyone, that way.

Tugera AND DreamStoryWeaver: Hehe.. You're going to be surprised when the time comes.

Blackmoondragon: ..I like big words. :D

* * *

_On my own_

_There's no chaperone_

_But my heart still is mine_

_For the keeping_

_Take a rest_

_You can pass this test_

_You can still dream your dream_

_While you're sleeping_

_If I can just stay true_

_To the steps I've taken_

_It will all come through_

_If it's fate, let it be_

_'Cause, now I see_

_I can wait_

-- 'I Can Wait', Hairspray (2-Disc Edition)

**Souvenir: Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

Morning arrived with the same careful wariness it always did. Lately, it hadn't taken long to remember where he was or why he was there; this time, recollection came before optics even lit alight. When a single, thin blue pane of glass finally came online to reveal the world, the first thing that came in to focus was a very large, offline red bulb of an optic inches from his own. A despaired moan was barely repressed.

With a silent cringe, Cliffjumper turned his head away from Shockwaves' still recharging faceplate. A glance at his chronometer revealed unsurprising results; less than an hour until Shockwave would awaken. It appeared that his frame decided to make a habit of waking up too early.

The newest addition to the room was actually forgotten until he caught sight of it; the transparent box of a cage was clearly visible despite the large Decepticon pinning him to the berth. Unconsciously, he searched for the only comforting figure that existed here; it didn't take long to find him.

The shivering blue mech was still inside. Blurr huddled in the corner of the plexiglass prison, servos held tight over his own audio receptors and optics clenched shut. It appeared that the speedster had fallen in to recharge in that position; metal brows were still furrowed in stress.

A pang of sorrow ran through his processor at the sight; Blurr had clearly spent the better portion of the night attempting to block everything out. He didn't blame his friend for not wanting to bear witness to his suffering; he likely would have done the same.

After a few seemingly long moments of simply staring at the encased mech, Cliffjumper shut his optic down again and tried not to think. In the attempt to escape within himself, a sudden and surprising realization came about.

He wasn't in any pain. Every time Shockwave had attacked, the following morning came with a fiery agony from the burns inflicted on his spark chamber; now, there was nothing but strange, shadowy echoes of discomfort.

It took a moment longer to recall the gel the medic had supplied; with it came a terrible sense of dread. If the gel had decreased the burns, that would certainly give Shockwave reason to assault him more often.

He would have preferred the burns. He would rather spend the nights in the closet or even the strange cage; guiltily he realized that meant he would have preferred Blurr take his place instead.

Cliffjumper couldn't help but shudder; in the attempt to distract himself from conflicting emotions and nightmarish thoughts, the minibot reminded himself of the last fragment of hope that remained. There was still the emails.

A soft whimper went through the air; he onlined his optic again at the sound. His line of sight had already been aimed at the cage; a pair of wide, frightened optics stared back.

Blurr was awake again; the speedster was covering his mouth with both hands.

Cliffjumper stared back and decided not to tell his friend about his self-made mission; if the Elite Guard was ever caught sending a message out in his behalf, he would never be able to forgive himself for the doubtless horrific punishment Shockwave would inflict.

He simply had to endure for one more month.

* * *

The expression on Trackback's face when they arrived for their daily ration spoke volumes. The long-time prisoner openly gaped at Cliffjumper with the shock an ordinary mech would have given a ghost; obviously, he had not expected the minibot to still be alive.

Still, silence reigned as large claws hooked the leashes in to the wall. As Shockwave walked away and towards the energon dispenser, a large servo roughly pushed at a red frame; there was enough force behind it to knock Cliffjumper to the ground.

The prisoners may have thought it was accidental if Shockwave hadn't glared at the minibot before stalking away.

"..Something tells me he's still fragged off about the stabbing incident." Cliffjumper growled through gritted dentals.

"Holy slag.." Trackback sputtered. "I figured you were offline! It.." His gaze flickered to the minibots' servo-less arms. "..Woah."

"You're here early." In a clear attempt to change the subject, Blurr sighed.

"Spittor woke up early." Trackback boggled a moment. "What the slag happened to you, Cliff? What was that about a stabbing incident?"

"I stabbed the fragger with my stingers." As if to emphasize the point, the former secretary held up a flat-capped wrist.

"Well.. Frag." Trackback gaped, visibly amazed. After a short few seconds, a wide grin crossed his faceplate. "You've gotta have bearing of chrome steel or somethin'."

Both Blurr and Cliffjumper gave the long-time prisoner a strange stare; at that moment, Shockwave chose to return with their rations.

Unusually, only a single cube was placed in front of Blurr. Then, the cyclopean Decepticon glared at the red minibot. "You get nothing, today." With that, he stood and left for his usual seat.

As soon as the towering mech was gone, Cliffjumper snorted. "Oh, yeah. He's still fragged off."

Blurr blinked in wide-opticked shock. After a moment, the speedster picked up his cube and took a single, long gulp; when he set the cube down again, a little less than half was drained. A blue servo slid it towards his red companion. "Take the rest of mine."

A red and gray faceplate stared at the speedster in surprise. "Blurr --"

"Take the cube, Cliffjumper. Just take it and don't try to argue with me or, I swear to Primus, I _will_ hold it against you."

A short few cycles passed. Then, a slow, faintly amused grin crossed Cliffjumpers' face. He slowly looked to the cube with a a dubious expression; the grin faded.

"..Oh. Right." Blurr shifted in place at a flash of shame. Nimble white fingers grasped the cube and held it up to his friend. "Sorry, I can't believe I actually forgot about your hands, let me help you with that..!"

The smirk returned to the gray and red faceplate; he neither resisted nor argued and simply allowed his friend to feed him.

* * *

It quickly became apparent that Shockwave was still annoyed with the numerous stab wounds that adorned his frame. The extra maltreatment increased as the days went on; an extra shove or push could almost be ignored with all the pain already inflicted on their small frames, but added touches that were anything but friendly could not. Cliffjumper was clearly the focus each and every time and always after claws brushed against visibly repaired punctures; by the end of the second week, the red minibot was paranoid and on edge.

A part of their situation that hadn't changed was the frequency of the assaults; Blurr continued to be the favored victim of their abuser in the evening hours. Neither of the captive Autobots commented about this to the other.

Fourteen days after Cliffjumpers' horrific injuries came and went. As they were pushed in to Shockwaves' room after the usual diurnal meeting, a claw nearly the size of their entire entire frames trailed down a red-plated backside with feigned tenderness; the former secretary physically convulsed in response.

The door then promptly slid shut.

Once the Decepticon was gone, Cliffjumper shuddered again. "Sick freak."

"Are you all right?" Blurr looked to his shorter companion with wide, worried optics. "Primus, the fragger is getting more and more bold and _aggressive_.."

"He's trying to break me, is what it is." The red minibot growled, still shaking slightly as he sat on the lounge chair. "He can do whatever the frag he wants, I'm not going to crack."

Still, Blurr noticed how the former secretary hugged himself and shuddered.

The cerulean mech sat down on the edge of the chaise; as he moved, he caught sight of the cage in the back of the room.

The box was empty; they had anticipated a new captive to join them within days of the plexiglass being set up. Yet, two weeks later, it was still only the two of them. Not that the Elite Guard was unhappy about this; on the contrary, the longer there was not a third bot, the better.

Blurr frowned to himself; he hoped Shockwave never got hold of another poor mech. No one deserved such a fate.

* * *

_If I can just stay true_

_To the steps I've taken_

_It will all come through_

_I'll let fate set the date_

_It's okay_

_I can wait_

-- 'I Can Wait', Hairspray (2-Disc Edition)


	19. Chapter 19

Author notes: ..Ironically, having a job helped me write this FASTER. Possibly because I wrote some of this at work. *cough* Whoops.

Okay, most of the craziness doesn't start until NEXT chapter, but I hope this will suffice.

Respond time, whee!

Peacewish: I liked your rambly review. XD You should be exhausted when you review more often.

Tugera: I think I mentioned it waaay back in chapter five; Trackback's stuck with the entire Team Charr. Which is why he's a little loopy.

Blackmoondragon: At this point, I think they're ALREADY a little paranoid.

Windwalker: I.. Thank you? I think? I'm unsure how much of a compliment being compared to Shockwave is, though.. XD

* * *

_Had a dream that we were dead_

_But we pretended that we still lived_

_And came up broken, empty handed in the end_

_With the voice of the dead, I'm screaming_

_I don't know who I am anymore_

_I've been walking dead_

_Watching you_

_Long enough to know I can't go on_

-- 'This Close', Flyleaf

**Souvenir: Chapter Nineteen**

* * *

It didn't take a genius to figure out what Cliffjumper had been up to. As time went by, slowly progressing towards the return of the minibots' precious servos, the red mech was clearly becoming more anxious and paranoid. It was as if it all boiled down to the single moment that he would regain himself and he was frightened of something terrible before it could happen.

Blurr wasn't an idiot; he knew exactly what had held his friends' focus and attention for so long despite Shockwaves' cruel ministrations. He had, after all, been trained as an intelligence operative; making those connections had actually been simple. It was the only reason why he didn't press the former secretary too hard on the issue.

After all, if he could spot Cliffjumpers' intentions, then Shockwave could, as well. The speedster knew that if their abuser so much as suspected the red minibot could send messages out, the former secretary would likely die a slow, painful deactivation.

Fear kept him quiet; he asked only when he knew a Decepticon couldn't overhear them and, even then, kept his queries to a minimum.

Instead, he tried to help Cliffjumper; if information was what he wanted to send back, then he would help him gain as much of it as possible, even if his friend didn't trust him enough to send a message out himself.

* * *

It was becoming more and more difficult to gain information as the solar cycles went by. The door to the daily meeting opened frequently enough, letting fragments of battle plans and locations out with every telltale hiss of sliding metal, but the pieces often came without context; they were parts to a puzzle that lacked a complete set. Likely good to remember, but ultimately useless.

Not that any of this dissuaded Cliffjumper from focusing during those hours; every single word that was overheard was stored in his processor, waiting for the time he could send it back home.

Blurr must have realized that his friend wasn't quite himself; nearly three weeks after the speedster had woken to the sight of a pink-coated room, the speedster had clearly been eyeing his comrade with concern on a regular basis. The blue mech had even attempted to aid his friend in the mission the smaller had never outright admitted to; there had even been moments where the red minibot had been distracted from something the daily meetings had let loose, only to be filled in by his ever-chained companion.

The minibot knew his friend suspected his motives; still, he couldn't quite bring himself to divulge the full details of his plan. Fear and paranoia clung to his processor and refused to allow anything past the seemingly unshakable fact that he had to do this alone.

The former secretary had begun to count the days; on the nineteenth solar cycle since the loss of his servos, he sat back against the wall by the large doors as their leashes were hooked to the wall. Shockwave spared only a momentary glance to his captives before making his way in to the meeting. The minibot took in a deep intake to steady himself; claws had been running along his frame far too frequently, lately. The hours the shapeshifter attended the daily conference had become the safest part of the day.

"You know, you don't have to do this alone." Blurr whispered, optics large and filled with worry.

"Do what alone?" Cliffjumper continued to feign ignorance.

Blurr gave the minibot a knowing stare and a deep frown; he opened his mouth to speak again, only to quiet down as a large Decepticon lumbered past. A mech -- the same white and red Elite Guard they had seen since the very first morning -- was promptly tethered across the hall. The captives' burly brown torturer quietly held the prisoners' head with both hands before giving the unresisting bot a harsh, demanding kiss; he may have stayed longer if another Decepticon hadn't laughingly claimed that they would be late. Even as the two mechs left, the abused Autobot lay limp and unmoving.

Both Blurr and Cliffjumper shuddered at the sight.

"I wonder how long _he's _been here." The speedster whispered.

For a long moment, Cliffjumper stared at the unmoving fellow prisoner, remaining optic wide. There came a sudden notion that, perhaps, battle plans weren't the only thing that should be sent back home; there were many kinds of knowledge that would be valuable to the Elite Guard.

At least, there was information here that would be valuable to the poor mechs' family and friends.

The hall was far too wide and their frames far too small for them to speak to each other without yelling; he dared not try to call out in a place like this. So, the red minibot decided to try another approach; the Autobot symbol on his chassis that glistened from Shockwaves' meticulous cleaning flashed alight in Visual Code.

It took a long few minutes for the mech across the hall to notice; when he did, he looked up and stared with a narrowed, focused expression.

Cliffjumper hoped the prisoner hadn't been there long enough to forget the code all Autobots were taught in boot camp.

_My name is Cliffjumper. What's your name?_

The scarred prisoner blinked once. Twice. The expression shifted to a slight, confused frown before a slow realization dawned.

Hesitantly, the remains of the Elite Guard emblem on the red and white chest plate lit up in return.

* * *

Even with the frequency in which sharply pointed claws had been trailing along Cliffjumpers' frame as of late, Blurr was still often the one Shockwave chose to torment in the evening hours. Despite previous experience over the past while, it was still somehow a surprise when that terrible leering optic would land on the red mech.

No matter which of the two were chosen, Cliffjumper had always struggled; this night was no different as Shockwave grasped hold of a red limb. Time, it seemed, had done nothing to damper the minibots' unwillingness to go quietly; the flailing and swearing was all that inspired Blurr to fight as well.

As usual, Shockwave was simply too strong; the Elite Guard landed face first on the floor of the transparent cage from a single harsh shove. When he looked up to gaze at his flailing friend, misery clouded his optics.

Cliffjumper caught only a brief glimpse of his friends' sadness before he was slammed atop the berth. As soon as he was, he forced himself to stop moving and shut his only working optic offline; he told himself it was simply another night of torture. He had survived it before and he could do so again. He refused to respond with more than a hitch of his intake even as the gel was applied.

The manta of endurance was repeated and reached a frenzied pitch within his own processor when pain blossomed; the collision of the much larger spark against his own had always caused a sharp paroxysm of agony. Dentals grit against each other in the attempt not to scream; he didn't want Blurr to hear his pain even if the speedster could witness it.

Usually -- it was form of anguish all its' own that there even _was _a usual --, the agony would persist in bouts. Shockwave had a habit of pulling back long enough for the burning in his spark to abate only to thrust back in; it was a horrible torture that was feared more than anything else. So, when the pain ebbed for a moment, the minibot braced for it to return.

After several long seconds, nothing happened. However, Blurr was yelling something; muffled by the glass and the haze around his processor, Cliffjumper couldn't make out what it was. Still, he hesitantly onlined his optic again.

Shockwave had apparently been distracted by whatever the speedster had said; the Decepticons' frame was still above his own by a bare measurement, antlered helm tilted to the side and focused across the room.

Cliffjumper found his gaze aimed directly on the large spark that had so often brought suffering upon his own; the glowing sphere of life was bared nude and, for the moment, unprotected. Despite what had happened after his last desperate attempt to fight back and recent molestation, the opportunity presented before the red minibot was simply too good to pass up.

There was no thought; there was only action. The flat capped end of a wrist jutted forward in a sudden lurch. Although the former secretary still lacked his hands, an attempt to compensate for the missing digits with sheer brute force was made; once his mind caught up to his own attempt to attack and realized that his mangled limb had actually made physical contact with Shockwaves' spark, he turned and twisted the limb in a parody of a blade.

For a moment, everything was very still. Shockwave stiffened and let out a great gasp; the ordinarily red pupil suddenly shifted through a quick gradient of color and light before going completely black. It took what felt to be a very long moment for the shapeshifter to pull back with a quick, staggering jerk. When he did, Cliffjumpers' red arm slid out of the madly pulsing spark; the armor over the large spark chamber slid shut with a quiet hiss.

A clawed servo laid atop the enclosed chest plate; Shockwave knelt above his captive, gasping and clutching his own chassis. Before Cliffjumper could think to move or to fight further, the other claw landed on his throat and held him firm. As the minibot twisted in the hold, the cyclops towering over him almost appeared to melt; a purple frame physically bubbled and oozed, colors blending and twisting in a bizarre, frightening display the likes of which he had never seen.

The minibot could only stare in rapt silence, unsure what to expect. It took a few seconds more for the bubbling claw on his throat to lift him off the berth entirely; red and gray legs kicked uselessly before he was sent hurtling through the air and in to the previously neglected berth-side closet.

Perhaps due to a startled frame of mind, Shockwave had thrown his prisoner through the wrong door; instead of meeting a corpse, devices and equipment cluttered and fell on the startled minibot. It was all the former secretary could do to cover his still unprotected spark chamber from falling objects; the entire front of his vehicle mode was still outside.

Nothing but silence came from beyond the closed door. For the moment, Cliffjumper didn't know what to do; if he had his hands, he would have been searching the closet for a weapon. Instead, his processor fell in to a panic, wondering if he had just made a terrible mistake.

Blurr was yelling something again; this time, a pain-filled mind did not cloud the words, but the dual combination of the closet door and the glass of the tank itself muffled the words too much to hear more than nonsensical noises. He called back, but doubted his friend could make sense of him, either.

As the cycles ticked on in silence, Cliffjumper mentally berated himself in terror; he had a solid plan and he hadn't stuck to it. All his attempts would be in vain if he was murdered now as a result of such idiotic defiance.

According to his chronometer, nearly four long hours passed before slow, heavy footsteps echoed outside the closet door; Blurr let out what sounded like a gasp. The door soon slid open; an enraged ebony Shockwave loomed over his former assistant. A single servo adorned with nearly a dozen claws quickly pulled the terrified minibot out.

Cliffjumper screamed.

* * *

_Had a dream that fire fell_

_From an opening in the sky_

_Someone warned me of this hell_

_And I spit in his naive eye_

_And left him crying for my soul he said would die_

_With the voice of the dead, I'm screaming_

_I've been walking dead_

_Watching you_

_Long enough to know I can't go on_

-- 'This Close', Flylead


	20. Chapter 20

Author notes: ..I wrote most of this at work again. :D Oops. Oh well. No one at work found out. XD

I had an unusual amount of writers block this chapter, tho. o.O I only got the last of this done because I got snowed in and couldn't get my usual stuff done.

Also, what the hell happened last chapter? I got a crap load of reviews. .. Seriously, what did I do right? I have no idea what I did, but I'd like to know so I could do it again.

RESPOND TIME. HOO-HAH.

Sallychan-Stories: Yes, Puyo somehow became my illustrator along the way. She occasionally done scene sketches and 'bloopers' that come up in conversation. XD Hence.. The sketch dumps involving Cliffjumper-brand Pizza.

Tugera AND Peacewish: Amusingly, Peacewish says Cliffjumper wouldn't be on the short list for a military job any time soon, while Tugera says he _should _have a military job. DISCUSS.

Redami: The way I figure, to have the ability of shapeshifting, a conscious effort has to be put in to stay the same shape. Emotion, then, would alter how a shapeshifter would appear. It's kind of like being a walking mood ring.

Zarak342: It's going to get worse before it gets better. :D

Reka: ... *cough* The end of this chapter will either make you happy or angry.

Little Mean Peppershaker: ..What.. it.. .. That was the longest, most amazing review EVER. Goodness, now I'm trying to find a place to put Jazz in just for that. How.. You don't even like TFA and you're enjoying this? How did I swing THAT?

Elfo: Dun be shy. :3 Reviews help my muses!

Novamyth: Well, I INTENDED it to be more about Blurr, but my brain decided to go a different route. XD I changed it to Blurr and Cliffjumper, tho.

Blackmoondragon: Hotspark. ... I swear, that's his name. Hotspark actually exists. I use the 'random page' button on the TF Wiki to find new bots for plot points, and Hotspark sounded enough like a bad porn name that I HAD to put him in. Look him up on the wiki. XD

* * *

_Take it and take it and take it and take it all_

_Take it and take it and take it and take us all_

_Smash it and crash it and thrash it and trash it_

_You know they're only toys_

_Steal it and shoot it and kill it or take another route_

_Take it and take it and take it_

_You know they're only toys_

_Devour, devour_

_Stolen like a foreign soul_

_Devour, devour_

_What a way to go!_

_Take it and take it and take it and take it all_

_Nobody, nobody wants to feel like this_

_Nobody, nobody wants to live like this_

_Nobody, nobody wants a war like this_

-- 'Devour', Shinedown

**Souvenir: Chapter Twenty**

* * *

The Elite Guard simply did not have enough information to attempt a rescue. Despite the weeks spent scrutinizing every single microsecond of recorded footage and foraging for every little scrap of detail that they could find, they had only managed to construct a partial layout of the Decepticon flagship.

A fragmentary map was not enough to risk the lives of a rescue team; a single incorrectly mapped hallway or floor placement would be the end of them. For the moment, they were at a standstill.

At the very least, the Council and acting Magnus were taking the situation seriously; although everything spoken about at the private meetings had been classified and shielded from the public and media, they had already begun to reopen a large number of MIA and 'presumed offline' files. Many mechs and femmes long since considered gone were now being given a fresh look.

For the moment, nothing else could be done. Even though they all knew it could take stellar cycles to gain the proper intel, they simply had no other choice in the matter.

The facts held firm despite vigorous arguments; without more information, they were stuck.

* * *

Really, Shockwave surmised, he should have expected that something like this would happen.

Not that he hadn't expected resistance, per se; on the contrary, it would have been foolhardy to believe that his latest catches would be happy with their treatment. Conflict, naturally, was unavoidable.

What he had not expected, however, was for Cliffjumper to be the one to cause so much trouble. Blurr, at least, was -- had been -- an Elite Guard; the shapeshifter had spent long enough undercover with their kind to know how those type of bots reasoned and perceived things. Cliffjumper, on the other servo, had been a tempermental personal assistant with an oil addiction; he had expected the red minibot to become hobbled and cowed as the special agent tried feebly to protect him, not the other way around.

It was all really rather annoying. If he couldn't predict the actions and reactions of his own slaves, what did that say for his skills as a spy? What did that say for the nearly unbearable stellar cycles spent within Autobot ranks? What did that say for Shockwave as a Decepticon?

Shockwave growled, more irritated at himself than the fact that his former secretary had attempted to murder him for a second time. He made no attempt to hide his anger as he pulled the visibly terrified minibot out of the closet; if anything, the fury was expanded upon.

The antlered mech may have been upset with his own processor, but Cliffjumper still had to be taught a lesson; this behavior could no longer be tolerated.

Past methods were clearly ineffective; something new would have to be done. Otherwise, this would all simply repeat itself at a later date.

There was very little resistance -- not more than the typical, containable twists and pulls, at any rate -- as he held his slave to the berth. There came a pounding from both the tank behind him and the frantically pulsing, panicked spark bared nude beneath his claws. For a moment, Shockwave relished in the viable spectrum of fear from both of his imprisoned minibots.

Oh, how he loved the small ones. It took so much longer to reach overload with their blissfully tiny sparks and tight chambers; interface was made all the more pleasurable with such delicious cries of pain and despair. It was nothing less than sheer fortune that Lord Megatron allowed him to keep so many of them.

Blurr was yelling something. Shockwave ignored it, lest he repeat a stupid mistake; it likely was nothing more than the usual base pleading he had heard so many times before, perhaps accompanied by swears and insults. Occasionally, the beautiful blue mech would shriek about the 'betrayal' done to the Autobot cause as if he had been a true traitor and not an undercover agent.

Ah, now, there was an idea; perhaps he should remind the obstinate pair of just how close he had been to them for so very long. Perhaps it would shake them long enough to truly drive the message home; they were both going to be here for the rest of their functions, so they may as well get used to it.

It took only a moment and an effortless thought to change form; purple faded seamlessly to gray, sensory antennas flipped downwards, and blue optics lit alight after over a month of inactivity.

All at once, the pounding behind him stopped with a disbelieving gasp; a red frame stiffened beneath him as a slack-jawed faceplate stared up in a rather amusing stupefaction.

For the first time since the fateful day that he returned home, Longarm Prime smiled.

* * *

Longarm Prime had always been seen as a kind-sparked bot. As the head of the Intelligence Division, the gray mech had held a reputation of being stern, but fair; he had befriended and been respected by so many within the Autobot rank and file that, typically, disappointment had been enough of a reprimand to secure order and inflict punishment.

So, when Shockwaves' cruel, glaring red stare dissolved in to those familiar, gentle blue optics that he had seen so often for so long, Cliffjumper had been too stunned to think. After being mistreated for what felt like an eternity by vicious claws, a part of him had actually forgotten that the two mechs were one and the same.

It had not helped his frame of mind to hear Longarms' soft, tranquil voice -- barely a few, scant inches above him -- murmur words of false affection and to feel _hands_ on his frame instead of sharply pointed talons. The minibots' processor blanked in the absolute, terrible wrongness of the situation.

The trapped Autobot had been unable to evolve past the shock even as saccharine adulation turned in to twisted flattery and unsafe promises; reality descended only when their sparks met.

It was as if he was being raped by a completely different mech. Save for the quiet moans, Shockwave had been almost clinical in his assault; Longarm, on the other hand, was loud, yelling with practically sung cries of victory.

Still, it hurt all the same. Not even the ability to change shape and size could change the very spark itself; screams mingled with affirmative cheers.

Blurr had been witness to the entire thing; throughout the ordeal, Cliffjumper had caught sight of the petrified blue mech staring with wide optics from beyond the glass. The speedster did not look away once; perhaps, the red minibot mused in the attempt to distract himself, his friend was in the same shock that had rendered his processor numb and mute.

Eventually, as it always did, the force of it all propelled Cliffjumper in to a painful unconsciousness.

He had never been so glad to meet the darkness.

* * *

Before entering the washracks, Shockwave unlatched the cage door. As soon as the plexiglass swung open, Blurr rushed out of the small opening; had the doorway been any smaller, he would have been forced to crawl out of it. The blue mech was fairly certain it was a purposeful design intended to bring about further humiliation.

The speedster didn't bother to wait until the wicked mech was gone; he was halfway across the room before the soft hiss sounded from the sliding metal. By the time the overhead pipes began their morning chatter, he was already at the berthside.

The previous night had been extraordinarily disturbing; he had to make certain Cliffjumper was all right. He couldn't even fathom how he would have reacted if their roles had been switched, and that alone troubled him.

"Cliffjumper?" Worried blue optics roved over a dazed red and gray frame; the smaller mech hadn't even bothered to sit up; it was worrying. "Primus, Cliffjumper, please say something, just please let me know you're still _sane _in there or something before the fragger gets back out here --"

"I'm okay." Slowly, the red mech leaned up, propelled by what was left of his arms. He still appeared to be in a sort of shock, optic wide and faceplate lax. "I'm okay. I'm.. More or less in one piece, so that's something." A glance downward over his own frame brought a deep frown; his spark was still exposed. "Don't suppose you've seen my chestplate?"

Blurr gave the apartment that had become their torture chamber a quick glance; it didn't take long to find the dark glass and red metal strewn near the berth. Quickly, white servos grasped the metal and reset it atop his friends' chassis. As the latches were clasped shut, the speedster looked to the dazed mech; emotion was ever so slowly returning to his friends' processor by the slight twitches along his body. "Cliffjumper.."

"I'm okay." Repeated for the third time; likely not a good sign. "I feel like an idiot for trying something so stupid, but I'm okay."

A small, sad smile crossed Blurrs' faceplate. "I sincerely doubt that anyone in their right mind would consider trying to murder Shockwave to be 'stupid' in any sense of the word, so don't you slagging dare beat yourself up over something like that. Primus, I should be trying the same thing instead of just letting him do whatever he wants without resisting." A flash of depression was barely visible as he paused. "My point is, you're not an idiot for trying to do what you did."

For a moment, Cliffjumper could only stare at Blurr; the run of speech that was so typical of the speedster had been a small surprise and an unexpected flash of normalcy. A small, slightly amused smirk began to form in response to the strange chastisement. "Thanks. Uh.. I kinda need help getting up. Without servos, this is a pain in the aft."

As Blurr helped his red friend sit upright, a sudden chime rent the air; both prisoners looked up in surprise. The noise was unlike anything they had heard before; it took a moment for both Autobots to find where the ringing had come from.

The communications console had a flashing mail icon perched innocently next to the screen; the holographic display rung again with every new digital flicker. Both Cliffjumper and Blurr froze at the sight.

"You don't think..?" Blurr whimpered.

"Primus, I hope not." Cliffjumper shuddered; if someone had actually replied to the email he had sent out so long ago, he was practically already offline.

It took a seemingly long cycle more for the washracks to open again. At first, a single optic looked to the two mechs as they always did before he would call out a name, only for the chime to sound off again. With visible surprise, Shockwave stared at the communication console.

The Decepticon was dripping wet as he sauntered to the computer. With only a few taps of pointed digits, the screen lit up and the password set in.

Neither Shockwave nor Cliffjumper noticed Blurr raptly staring at the tapped in keys.

Shockwaves' cyclopean gaze lingered on the screen as the email popped up; both Autobots were too far to read the message being displayed.

Cliffjumper waited with a held intake for something terrible to happen. After several seconds, however, nothing did; Shockwave simply blinked at the email and shut the console off again.

Still, the large, red optic stared at them as the large Decepticon made his way back towards the washracks. "Cliffjumper, come here."

* * *

The rest of the day progressed as usual.

Yet, both Blurr and Cliffjumper felt shaken throughout the day; their disturbed processors were obvious enough that even Trackback noticed as they obtained their daily ration. Neither told the long-time prisoner about all that had happened; they couldn't without having to explain about the emails and they simply weren't able to with Shockwave sitting so close.

They had both begun to calm down only late in the afternoon; the daily strategy meeting was well underway and nearing the usual time it ended when Blurr finally decided to try speaking again.

"So.. How many names did you round up?" The speedsters' tone was hushed and subdued in the fear of anyone overhearing.

Cliffjumper blinked in brief surprise. "Thirty-two. So far. There's a few in the cafeteria I wasn't able to find out yet."

"Does that include the crazy bot with the jets in the corner?"

The red minibot shuddered; that particular Autobot frightened him with the knowledge of what could happen if sanity was lost. "Yeah. I don't even know how to get a crazy bots' attention or how to ask his name from across the room without looking like I'm up to something." He took in a deep intake to suppress the disturbed feeling. "Though, with the tags in the closet, the number goes up to thirty-eight."

"I guess --" Blurr stopped as the door slid open.

It wasn't particularly early; the meetings had a habit of ending at different points within a twenty minute timeframe; the two Autobots supposed the sessions could either run long or short like any other meeting.

Shockwave sauntered out; there came an uncomfortable relaxation at the realization that their kidnapper was neither particularly angry nor happy. A tip of emotion in either direction would likely mean nothing good for them and the lack of it actually soothed frazzled processors.

As their leashes were grasped and they began to walk along, Blurr let out a deep sigh; he was almost starting to get used to the routine. It bothered the speedster to think he could actually get accustomed to such cruelty and terror. A small smile was sent to his companion as Cliffjumper gently patted his arm with the flat end of a wrist.

They were both so used to where to go that they almost had their collars yanked when Shockwave took an unexpected turn. Their self-proclaimed master was walking down a different hallway far from his own quarters; both Autobots shared a frightened glance.

Blurr huddled close to Cliffjumper, and the latter did the same in return; they had never seen this particular hallway before. It took several minutes to notice that the dozens upon dozens of doors crammed so close together was oddly reminiscent of a standard, low-key apartment complex; perhaps they were private quarters to lower-ranked soldiers.

If that was the case, they couldn't fathom why they were there.

Eventually, Shockwave stopped in front of one of the doors; the flat metal was identical to every other door in the hall. A clawed fist knocked twice; a few seconds passed before the door slid open.

The black and red mech on the other side was clearly surprised to see Shockwave; his jaw dropped as crimson optics widened. "Uhm.. Uh.. Commander Shockwave..?" His vocalizer pitched as he quickly saluted.

Clearly, this Decepticon was just as terrified of the cyclops as everyone else.

"Stand down." Somehow, Shockwave's tone held the impression that he was grinning. "This is in regards to the email, Wire Tap."

"..Oh. Oh." The black and red mech -- Wire Tap -- visibly relaxed. His gaze darted to the two Autobots only to perform a stunned double-take before looking back to his commander. "..Really?"

A slitted optic rolled. "Unless, of course, you do not have the credits available for the exchange with you."

"Oh, uh, sir, yes, uhm.. One cycle." Wire Tap practically dived in to what appeared to be a very messy, very small and very cluttered living quarters.

Somewhere along the way, several Decepticons either wandering along the hall or in nearby apartments had begun to stare in absolute silence. It was so quiet, in fact, it took a halfway filled hall before Blurr noticed and tapped Cliffjumpers' shoulder to get his attention. The same stunned curiosity was on every single faceplate. Clearly, Shockwave did not venture down this hall often.

It didn't take long for the black and red Decepticon to return to the door; a slightly scuffed, battered credit card was held in one hand. "Here you are, sir. It has the exact amount on it."

"Good." A clawed talon took hold of the card and slid it in to a small container latched to his side; the tube-like device was just large enough to fit it. Then, the servo not gripping the leashes swiftly grabbed hold of a red sloped shoulder guard.

Cliffjumper gasped in surprise as he was suddenly pulled forward; the same set of talons on his shoulder quickly unlatched the collar; it fell to the ground with a quiet clatter of metal meeting metal. Before the minibot could figure out what exactly was happening, Shockwave leaned down to speak directly in to his audio receptor.

"Perhaps this will allow you to appreciate being in my custody." With that, claws gently shoved the shellshocked minibot in to waiting black and red hands.

At the realization of what was occurring became clear, Blurr began to shriek. Even as Cliffjumper was pulled inside and the door slid shut, the speedster continued to cry and yell.

Shockwave had to physically drag Blurr down the hall, kicking and screaming Cliffjumpers' name.

* * *

_You want it? You want it? You want it?_

_Well, here it is!_

_Everything, everything, everything_

_Isn't so primitive_

_Diving down_

_Round and round_

_Diving down_

_Round and round_

_Devour, devour_

_Suffocate your own empire_

_Devour, devour_

_It's your final hour!_

-- 'Devour', Shinedown


	21. Chapter 21

Author notes: Apparently, writing at work really helps. I'm not sure why. Huh. Don't fix what ain't broke, I guess. .... Unless I get fired. *cough*

This chapter does nothing to progress the plot. I'm so sorry. XD

RESPOND TIME. WOO-HOOT!

Tugera: I have a feeling you are going to love the _next _chapter. :D

Peacewish: Your review made me laugh so much. XD I love it!

Blackmoondragon: ..As opposed to lighting the optic on fire with said blowtorch?

* * *

_Interchanging mind control_

_Come, let the revolution take its' toll_

_If you could flick a switch and open your third eye_

_You'd see that we should never be afraid to die_

_So, come on!_

_They will not force us!_

_They will stop degrading us!_

_They will not control us!_

_We will be victorious!_

_So, come on!_

-- 'Uprising', Muse

**Souvenir: Chapter Twenty-One**

* * *

Blurr couldn't stop screaming.

It didn't matter how many sets of red and blue optics stared at his hysterical, flailing form as he was pulled along, nor how his own shuddering frame twisted in a clawed grip. Neither did it matter how many times Shockwave told him to quiet down or how many passing Decepticons laughed at his antics.

He simply couldn't stop screaming.

It had been as if something deep within his processor had snapped apart and crumbled to dust; the speedster could physically feel the fragments of his own shattered mind attempt to piece themselves back together as he wailed. There was a strange, disjointed sense of self awareness; it was as if he was far away and barely in control of his own actions.

In that far off, distant place, a dim portion of what was left of his mind noted that someone else screeched in a similar manner in a nearby hall. The cries mingled with his own in a symphony of despair that he barely noticed.

With existence clouded in the haze that he was in, it was a complete surprise when everything suddenly spun; the blue and white Autobot found himself thrown through the air, landing in an undignified, sputtering heap of tangled limbs and chain link. Blurr didn't bother to lift himself from the floor; he had long since learned that it took far too long with his pedes restrained the way that they were. Instead, he looked up with sharp panic.

A single slitted optic stared. Then, the door slid shut.

It took a moment longer to realize that he was on the floor of the familiar, hated apartment.

His processor still refused to function properly. So, the speedster curled up where he had landed, clicking miserably in to his arms.

All that seemed to matter was that Cliffjumper was gone -- had been _sold_, no less -- and he didn't know if he would ever see the red mech again. Trackbacks' words haunted him; minibots didn't last long with ordinary Decepticons. It was a very real possibility that the captive secretary would be offline by morning, if he even lasted that long.

They had both known that death loomed around every corner, waiting by every unpredictable action their kidnapper could take; yet, the speedster had still grown terribly dependent on what had been his only true companion in this horrid place.

He wondered when he had become so weak for such simple kindness and camaraderie to mean so much. Stellar cycle upon stellar cycle had ben spent undercover and alone on various worlds with no one to talk to for months at a time; why had he become so feeble, so much like a sparkling that he now wept as if Cliffjumper had been his creator?

Shame quickly coursed through him at the sudden realization that Cliffjumper had done so much more than simply offer friendship; every single inch of progression so far -- the emails, the battles against Shockwave, every single little thing -- had been entirely his doing. Blurr had done almost nothing to aid either himself or his friend since their capture.

Was he really so helpless? Had he, an Elite Guard, really been reduced to such a state? He had been a spy, a recon expert, knowledgeable and proficient in enough fields to have been hand-picked by the Magnus himself! He had even bypassed boot camp; an unthinkable prospect for most bots.

This couldn't go on. Sanity, he believed, would leave him if things continued at their current pace. The longer he remained hesitant and did nothing more than try to survive, the less likely he'd be able to recover or notice if a chance to escape presented itself. After all, he barely recalled the journey spent crying out in the halls bare moments before; he had even failed to notice he was back in the dreadful cell of an apartment until the door itself was already sliding shut.

He had to be stronger than this. There simply was no other way; Cliffjumper wouldn't want him to fall in to a weeping, fragile mess. His friend would have wanted him to fight bolt and nail against Shockwave.

If there was no one else to depend on, he would have to trust and rely on himself.

* * *

Eventually, Shockwave returned as he always did.

Blurr looked up from his fetal position in the corner. The captive Autobot forced himself to glare despite the fear gripping his spark; his gaze brought in to focus the scuff marks on purple paint that had not been there before. He wondered where they came from.

The cerulean mech was completely unsurprised as his tormenter gripped that same novel from the shelf and sat on the chaise; this was what passed for ordinary, these days. He knew the real torture wouldn't begin for an hour yet; still, there was nothing to do but wait. So, he did nothing but glare first as the much taller mech before looking to the floor.

The hour passed far too quickly; as the alarm clock chimed, Blurr cringed. He hated that sound almost as much as he hated Shockwave.

Cloven pedes made their way ever closer, heavy steps the only sound; it was quiet enough that the normally gentle meeting of metal soles against floor echoed throughout the room. For the moment, the imprisoned blue mech didn't resist as a claw landed on his spiked shoulder guard to lift him up.

It wasn't until he was steady on his own two feet did Blurr lash out; a white fist surged forward. It was with some surprise on both of their parts when the fist actually landed against an ebony, shadowed faceplate.

The shock didn't last long; a wild shriek of fury erupted from the speedsters' processor as he brought up his other hand. With a skill ordinarily diverted to running, pale blue arms rained against the much larger frame with as much force as he could place in to every blow.

Hostility, desperation, and anguish over everything that had happened since his kidnapping came raging out in angry shrieks and the pummeling of fists.

He had been captured and taken from his home. His spark, it felt, had been forcefully shorn from his own frame with every nightmarish assault. He had been forced to watch as the mech that had become his only friend had been tortured as well, and then had that same friend sent away to what was likely a slow, painful deactivation. Odds were, he would never escape this place.

There was nothing left to lose. Even his own life seemed paltry in such a horrid existence.

It didn't take long for Shockwave to shake himself from the initial stunned haze; once he did, a clawed servo struck out against the jackhammering arms. Blurr yelped and fell back, deep scratches against the side of his frame bleeding pink instantly.

Still, the speedster snarled as his arms were grabbed and pinned to his sides; a white and blue helm jerked back and forth in furious denial.

"Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me, get _off_ of me, you sick, twisted, deranged, horrid _thing_!"

"Finally fighting back, I see." Shockwave sighed. "And here I was hoping you would remain obsequious."

Blurr snarled at the insult despite not knowing what the word meant. As claws carried him through the air and slammed him against the berth with more force than he had been previously bestowed during these nightly torment, the confined mech continued to hiss and twist.

Nothing the speedster could say or do could prevent Shockwave from what he wanted. Despite that simple, somehow immutable fact, Blurr could no longer bring himself to simply give up and allow it to happen without some form of resistance.

For the first time since the horrible ordeal that seemed to have begun an age ago, Blurr refused to weep when their sparks met.

* * *

It felt very strange being alone in the mess hall. Blurr had become so used to having someone by his side that the lack of presence unnerved him; however, he was truly surprised by the surge of elation that erupted at the sight of Trackback.

The gold and blue mech -- paint long since scuffed with permanent marks and scars -- sported several new wounds for the day. This was nothing particularly unusual. Still, Blurr winced at the sight of the cracked optic and multiple dents along his fellow prisoners' frame; it appeared as if someone had repeatedly struck the other mechs' frame with harsh blows.

The speedster waited until the long-time prisoner was leashed up and the Decepticon that had brought him in had ambled away; then, he looked to the injured bot. "Bad night?"

"Cyclonus." Trackback sighed deeply, exhaustion wracking his frame; blue optics flickered from both damage and fatigue. "The slagger's.. Uh.." He paused a moment. "..I haven't recharged in two solar cycles and I can't remember words right now." He glanced around slowly. "Where's Cliff..?"

Blurr winced again and looked to the floor.

"..What happened this time?" Trackback frowned deeply. "Did he lose another limb?"

"Worse that just losing a limb or two." The blue mech shook his head quickly; a quick glance was sent around the large cafeteria in search of his red-plated friend. "The slagger of a monster that kidnapped us and did all of this to us went and actually _sold_ him and there wasn't a fragging thing I could do!" It took a great deal of focus to keep his voice low; pale blue limbs shook with barely restrained rage.

"What..?" A blue faceplate stared in disbelief. "Holy slag, mech.. I'm sorry."

"I don't see him anywhere in here." Blurr took a deep intake in the attempt to steady his trembling limbs; it didn't work. "I don't see Cliffjumper anywhere." He paused for a very brief moment. "..Do you suppose he's offline? You said yourself minibots don't last long because of the size difference, and the fragger was pretty big. Not quite as big as Shockwave, mind you, but still fairly large."

For a moment, Trackback appeared taken aback by Blurrs' run of speech. "I.. Maybe. But maybe he's okay. I remember a few minibots lasting a few solar cycles around here. One lasted a whole month, once."

A small surge of hope sprung at the slowly spoken words; Blurr took another intake to steady himself. This time, the quivering subsided.

A sudden flash of thought sprung along an accelerated mind; whether or not Cliffjumper was still functioning, there was still a very small chance of escape. He had known what his red friend had been trying to do; why not continue his work? If, by some miracle, the former secretary would return, then he at least had something to help him with.

"Trackback.. Don't suppose you were able to find out those minibots' names at the time?"

* * *

_They will not force us!_

_They will stop degrading us!_

_They will not control us!_

_We will be victorious!_

_So, come on!_

-- 'Uprising', Muse


	22. Chapter 22

Author notes: I managed to write this all on a single day off. I don't know how. And I finished it ten minutes before bed time. I'm very proud of myself right now. xD

At least this chapter moves the plot along. If only a tiny little bit. *cough*

RESPOND TIME, WOO!

Peacewish: The funny thing is? .. I'm only about halfway through this plot. I seriously did not think it would drag on this long. o_O

Reka: Woohoo! E-cookies! *omnomnom*

Tugera: I know that when I'm exhausted, I forget words and details and all sorts of things. XD

Not so Dark: Cookies help EVERYTHING. *omnomnoms more*

Blackmoondragon: Your suspicions.. Were correct. *bow*

* * *

_Wake me up inside_

_Tell me there's a reason_

_To take another step_

_To get off my knees_

_And follow this path of most resistance_

_And wherever it takes us_

_Whatever it faces_

_And wherever it meets_

_Don't worry, I'll be fine_

_I just don't want this dream_

_Wake me up inside_

-- 'Under the Knife', Rise Against

**Souvenir: Chapter Twenty-Two**

* * *

Blurr hadn't known he could feel so lonely.

He had thought that he had known what to expect as the only captive in Shockwaves' custody; Cliffjumpers' hours of repair gave a brief preview of such a situation. However, as the days ticked by with the steady rhythm of the cruel Decepticons' schedule, the situation truly bore down on him with a metaphorical weight he simply couldn't expel.

There was no one to talk to. No one to have simple conversation or to share misery with. Those simple things, it seemed, had made all the difference; the absence of such companionship became a stark notice in the silence that was broken only by his own screams.

He wondered how Trackback coped. The often exhausted prisoner had mentioned on more than a few occasions that he was alone -- save for his abusers, of course -- for a majority of the day. Blurr wondered if that was how he had forgotten his own name; had there simply been no one there to remind him of his own designation? Had he simply forgotten things, lost to the madness that was their prison and pain?

Had that been how so many had lost their very minds?

Four solar cycles passed with no real answers; there was only Shockwave and the accursed schedule he kept. The speedster had become so lost in his misery and so focused on his own thoughts that he had actually lost his balance, one afternoon, when his kidnapper turned the wrong way after the daily meeting; the speedster yelped and fell soundly to the floor.

Shockwave said nothing; he simply grasped hold of a gleaming, sloped shoulder and hefted the Autobot to his feet. Blurr flushed in shame; still, he growled and did his best to ignore the snickering from nearby Decepticons.

It took a moment longer to recognize where they were going; the doors lining the wall, so close together, were unmistakable.

Deep within his spark, hope flared. As they neared the unmarked door that Cliffjumper had been left within -- the speedster wasn't sure how he remembered it was exactly thirty-two doors down and to the left, but he knew exactly which one it was --, the joyful anticipation swelled.

A clawed servo knocked twice on the door.

Metal slid apart to reveal a smirking Wire Tap; the mirth splayed on the darkly painted faceplate gave the impression that he had recently been laughing a great deal. "Best credits I ever spent, Commander." Then, a small, red figure was thrown out; the body crumpled to the floor.

The joy died all at once; the red frame wasn't moving. Pink covered far too much of Cliffjumpers' body.

Blurr gasped and moved towards the unmoving mech; claws suddenly gripped his arm and held him back. He pulled against Shockwaves' hold to no avail.

"Come on, slave, get up!" Wire Tap laughed, nudging the energon-coated frame with an armored foot. "Move it!"

Ever so slowly, the fallen minibot began to twitch. It took what felt to be a very long time for the bleeding body to lift itself upward with the flat ends of two servo-less wrists; arms and legs alike trembled in the exertion. Heavy, pink droplets fell to the floor as the seconds dragged on. Dentals grit as intakes heaved; eventually, he staggered upright.

Wide blue optics could only stare in abject horror.

Before stability was even achieved, Shockwave lumbered forward with two heavy steps; a collar was latched on to a slick, pink-coated throat. The minibot stumbled but caught himself; Blurr quickly noticed that one leg was favored against the other.

"Let me know if he's ever up for offer again, Commander!" Wire Tap laughed as they began to move away.

Blue arms latched on to the silent, trembling minibot as soon as he could; energon quickly coated his own frame in his efforts, but he ignored it in the attempt to help his friend along.

Slowly, Cliffjumper stared back; what was left of his optics seemed glazed with a practically blank fatigue. The red minibot said nothing and made no effort to move away; yet, his frame flinched at every touch made by even Blurrs' hands.

It was more than a little disconcerting; a shudder ran along a light blue frame at what he witnessed. For the moment, Blurr wanted nothing more than to get back to Shockwaves' quarters just so he could take a look at his friends' wounds.

The usually short walk felt as if it took a very long time. The silence wasn't broken until they were both locked inside and, for the moment, free of Shockwaves' gaze.

"Cliffjumper..?" Blurr moved in front of his friend without letting him go. "Cliffjumper, please say something, say anything, can you please just look at me and say anything at all?"

A gore splattered helm hesitantly looked up and struggled to focus on a worried white faceplate; a single blue optic flickered longer than a standard blink. "..Blurr..?"

The Elite Guard symbol on a pale chest plate swelled with a deep intake of air. "Primus, Cliffjumper, when was the last time these slaggers let you recharge?! You're practically falling over!" The speedster gently held on to red plated arms and led him to the chaise.

The minibot did not resist. In fact, Cliffjumper collapsed face first on to the cushioned sofa as soon as he was near it; pink instantly splattered on the ornate fabric.

"Primus..!" Blurr breathed as he stared at the injured red mech. He tried to get his thoughts in order as his mouth opened and closed several times in a rare moment of speechlessness. "I.. I.. Hold on.." As quickly as the chains tethering his ankles allowed, he rushed for the closed door to the washracks.

It didn't open; it ordinarily granted entry only in Shockwaves' presence. Blurr hissed and pounded on the metal; much to the speedsters' surprise, it did slide apart. Deciding not to question what was either a glitch or Primus's mercy, he rushed inside to gather what was needed.

The blue mech exited several nano-kliks later, the first-aid kit and a small towel in his arms. As soon as he was back at the unmoving minibots' side, he gave the pink-coated frame a glance; he couldn't even see where the wounds were with all the lifeblood in the way. So, without further preamble, the Elite Guard set the terry cloth as gently as he could against a fuel coated back.

Cliffjumper hissed and arched, but otherwise did not move away. The red mech didn't even moan in what was doubtless pain; he simply twitched.

Blurr gulped; he had never seen a bot so beaten apart before, even when he had been undercover in a myriad of situations. As the cloth soaked up the leaked fuel to slowly reveal the actual body beneath, his optics widened at what was revealed.

"Oh.. Primus." The speedster felt ready to purge; an intake was taken in the attempt to prevent his fuel tank from churning. He didn't have to ask what had been done; he may not have been a medic, but he had gone through Elite Guard first aid courses. Dozens of different wounds had been covered. "Those are from knives or swords or a blade of some type, aren't they? I'm going to have to wrap your entire chassis up --"

"I think they were daggers." The words came as a thick, hoarse grunt. "And there was a whip involved, at some point, I think."

Blurr paused in stunned surprise; he hadn't expected a response at all, let alone a clarification. He didn't know what to say to that; so, silence reigned as he folded the terry cloth to a cleaner portion and continued the mentally arduous task.

As more of Cliffjumpers' frame was revealed, the worse the story of the past few days became; it didn't take long to find the whip scars that had been mentioned. The discovery of numerous, some still leaking bite marks forced the blue mech to pause and shudder; it was only from that momentary disturbance that he noticed a far more pressing matter.

One red-plated leg appeared strangely dented. Blurr had to lean down to better inspect the limb; as he brought a hand down to lift the leg up, a keen of pain erupted from the previously stoic minibot.

"Holy.." Blue optics stared in shock at the leg in question. The wires were frayed and twisted; the protoform beneath -- usually hidden underneath armor but was now exposed with what looked like a very large crack in red metal -- continued to bleed despite that the wires no longer crackled with any electricity or excess energy. "..Your strut is broken."

"Yeah.. I know." Cliffjumper sighed.

"Your _strut_ is _broken_." Blurr sputtered. "You _walked_ here and your strut is broken! How the slag were you even standing upright with this type of injury!? I don't even know how I can fix that up with just a first aid kit before Shockwave gets back..!"

"Just.. Do whatever you can." The red mechs' voice still came out in a quiet, exhausted whisper; Blurr didn't blame him for being drained with the injures he was now seeing. Really, he was genuinely surprised he was conscious at all. "Just.. Wrap it up or something.."

Somehow, Blurr doubted simply wrapping the limb would be any help at all; likely, it would only make it worse. Still, with a slight shudder, the speedster continued to clean and dress the wounds to the best of his ability. There were enough of the smaller wounds to take over an hours' worth of time.

The blade marks -- thick, deep cuts likely inflicted by slow, painful runs of whatever vile weapon had been used -- were left for last. The literal carvings were simply too large; Cliffjumpers' assistance would be required, and Blurr hadn't wanted to bother him with that with the exhaustion weighting down the minibots' systems.

"Cliffjumper.." Blurr frowned as he held up the thick, heavy bandages the first aid kit came equipped with. "Cliffjumper, I need you to sit up. I need to wrap up your frame to cover the cuts on your back. It's only going to take a cycle or two and it's the best and probably only way to effectively treat the wounds, and I know it's very difficult to sit up right now, but if you can for only a cycle or two, we can get it done quickly."

A moment of silence passed; a deep frown crossed a white faceplate at the lack of reply. As he opened his mouth to begin speaking again, a soft, barely noticeable sigh broke the silence.

"What's the point?"

"What?" Blurr blinked in surprise. "What do you mean, what's the point? Those wounds on your back aren't going to heal up properly on their own without at least basic bandages to protect--"

"No, no, I mean.." Cliffjumper continued to lay on the chaise; he didn't look up or glance towards his companion. "What's the point of using those bandages? He's just going to tear them off again when.. He.." He stopped.

Silence reigned for a seemingly long stretch of time; Blurr looked down at the bandages in his hands with a heavy sadness. He understood the argument; he didn't know how to counter it without making claims he knew Cliffjumper wouldn't want to hear.

Before he knew what to say, a single, quiet hiccup echoed in the apartment.

The bandages fell to the floor; without much thought, Blurr rushed to Cliffjumpers' side. "Cliffjumper..!"

A single working optic was shuddered shut; although the red mech made no attempt to move, cerulean arms still managed to sweep the suddenly shaking minibot in to a hug. The speedster wanted to offer comfort, but every word that came to his processor seemed useless and feeble; he wanted to say that everything would be all right, but he no longer believed that, himself.

Still, he tried. "Cliffjumper.."

"Five hundred and fifty credits." Cliffjumper quaked, optic still shuttered. "That's how much I'm worth as a prosti-bot, apparently. Five hundred and fifty credits."

"Cliffjumper!" Blurr sputtered and stiffened at the term. "You're _not _a prosti-bot!"

A blue optic finally lit alight and looked up; the clear fatigue was marred with a deep, palpable sorrow. The blue mech had never seen the expression on the red minibots' faceplate before.

"It.. It's okay.." Blurr nearly whimpered. "There's still a chance. There's still the emails. We can still call for help. We just have to wait for the Elite Guard to show up. I don't know what's taking them so long, maybe they just don't know where in this Primus-forsaken ship we are, but they'll come get us and take us away and out of this place. We just have to wait for them and send those messages out as soon as we can, okay? We only have to hold on for a while.."

He felt strange saying these words; not too long ago, it had been Cliffjumper trying to bring his hopes up with the very same promises of escape.

Cliffjumper said nothing; his optic simply shuttered shut again. However, the shaking soon subsided.

* * *

Those four days had changed Cliffjumper. Blurr could see it as easily as he could see his own reflection; the red minibot had become quiet and somber after he was returned. All resistance against Shockwave had simply died in the aftermath; the only sign that the former secretary hadn't been completely destroyed were the flashes of humor and bright sarcasm that came out during conversation.

Blurr had the distinct feeling that it would take a great deal of time for his friend to recover from the abuse. Even then, it would be dampened and slowed the longer they were held captive; they needed to escape and do so soon if they had any chance at healing.

Five very quiet days passed. The daily meetings had gone on as they usually did, and this one was no different. However, a small, almost minute detail caught Blurrs' attention; with every opening of the door and every fragment of information, a red helm would perk up ever so slightly. The speedster recognized the motion; Cliffjumper had begun to pay attention, again.

The plan, it seemed, was back in motion. Blurr couldn't help but smile.

Soon enough, the doors opened. Shockwave trailed at the back of the exiting Decepticons as he made his way towards his tethered prisoners; the cyclops glowered slightly at the two Autobots as he grasped at their leashes. Both Autobots shrunk at the visible anger on display.

As they moved along, they shared a worried glance; Shockwave was more of a nightmare than usual when he was angry; the night already promised violence.

However, they soon noticed that they were heading in the wrong direction. For a moment, panic surged at the unknown; then, as certain details along the route became familiar, blue optics widened in rare delight. Both prisoners had to fight from grinning.

The door to their destination was already open; the very small bot at the entryway was instantly recognizable.

"Ah, Commander Shockvafe! Velcome!"

* * *

_Although we look awake_

_Inside we're all still sleeping_

_I spent my time here alive_

_But barely there_

_Do you believe we'll ever make it?_

_Do you believe we'll ever really see?_

_Wake me up inside_

_These dreams all die if we let them_

_Wake me up inside_

_Today won't start if we just give in_

-- 'Under the Knife', Rise Against


	23. Chapter 23

Author notes: Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I blame work for getting busier. I also blame a fair bit of writers block. But, most importantly, I blame World of Warcraft. Why is the Lunar Festival and the Love Festival AT THE SAME TIME?! And why are both needed for the 'What a strange, strange trip' meta achievement!? WHY!? *cries at all the lost hours*

... *cough* ... Anyway..

I have a self-made rule not to use more than one song artist per fanfic. I am seriously reconsidering this rule. Waaay too many chapters.

Review time, WOO.

Predlover: It was a WEEK. A week is not 'a while'. A month, six weeks, yes. A WEEK IS NOT A WHILE. *pelts you with confetti* XD

Peacewish: Sadly, Dr. Jigsaw is probably much more sophisticated and intelligent than Wire Tap. Wire Tap just has a blood fetish, so to speak.

Not so Dark: *OMNOMNOM* Cookies help. Oh, yes they do~

Tugera: ..Maaaybe. =D

* * *

_Singled out for who you are_

_It takes all types to judge a man_

_Feel; that's all you can_

_Ramblin' years of lousy luck_

_You miss the smell of burnin' turf_

_Dream; that's all you can_

_Ah, but don't_

_No, don't sink the boat_

_That you built, you built to keep afloat_

_Ah, no, don't_

_No, don't sink the boat_

_That you built, you built to keep afloat_

-- 'Float', Flogging Molly

**Souvenir: Chapter Twenty-Three**

* * *

When the strange Decepticon medic proclaimed Cliffjumper would have to stay in the medical ward until the following solar cycle, there was no fear. In fact, there was a complete lack of even worry on the parts of the two Autobot prisoners in Shockwaves' care; instead, there was an almost giddy anticipation for the upcoming surgeries. After all, the return of the minibots' servos held the promise of so much more than simply having use of them again.

Still, the blue and red mechs held their back their smiles. They maintained absolute silence even as they were separated; the former was forced to follow their kidnapper back the way they came as the latter was restrained to a gurney. Before the door slid shut, they shared a joy-filled glance towards each other.

"Vell, vell, vell. velcome back, little minibot!" The small medic chortled as soon as the door closed. With the clatter of tiny digits, Scalpel leapt from the floor to the berth; miniscule claws lifted a syringe half the size of the medics' frame in the air. "Let us get stah'ted, ya? You vill feel small pain! Den, ve can begin za actual repairs. Now, no movink, or it vill be verr messy!"

A single blue optic stared at the needle as it came closer; Cliffjumper did as told, far too eager to have his frame repaired to even consider resisting. The puce liquid was quickly, albeit gently injected in to a cable in his neck; the former secretary let out a soft hiss at the puncture.

Immediately, his HUD proclaimed his systems were being diverted towards the unknown foreign contaminate; a slow, sluggish crawl came over his processor in response. Thought and understanding came to a crawl; the red minibot found that, for the moment, he didn't particularly care about his inability to think.

All that mattered was being repaired.

"Vell, den. Virzt ting's virzt!" Scalpel chirped happily; then, the medic picked up a tool from beyond the minibots' frame of vision and held it up. With his processor slowed -- or perhaps from ignorance --, Cliffjumper couldn't recognize what the thin metal apparatus was. A high pitched, cheerful humming rent the air as the diminutive medic brought the tool towards a red and gray helm.

Cliffjumper had known it would hurt. Experience with the last time the presumed Decepticon CMO had his bizarre servos on his frame had told him as much; still, the minibot had to grit his dentals and shut his working optic offline to hold back the screams. It took several agonizingly slow minutes for the ebony replacement optic to be dislodged and removed; the pain only intensified as the delicate wires were exposed to the air.

Scalpel continued humming his happy song as he calmly dug several finely tipped talons in to the exposed wound. A deep, pain-filled keen erupted from the minibots' synthesizer as the thin digits moved about inside his skull; tender sensors were painfully moved, reconnected and displaced. Even a brief burst of pressurized air to clean out any wayward dust was a torture against the minibots' internal equipment.

It was less than an hour and more than an eternity before the actual optic was installed; Cliffjumper gasped as the tinted glass was shoved in to the empty socket, covering and protecting the wires underneath. He barely had a moment of reprieve before the torch was held against his faceplate. Agony flared as the flame burst to life.

Yet, despite it all, the minibot forced himself to stay very, very still.

"Oh, you are beink zuch un gut little minibot today, ah'n't you?" A thin digit patted the gray emblem on Cliffjumpers' helm with a condescending air. "I ditn't efen haff to get out za clamps!"

Cliffjumper sorely wished he could swear at the medic without repercussions.

At the lack of response, Scalpel chuckled. Then, he leapt off of the berth and scurried away; several short seconds later, the squeak of worn out wheels against the floor echoed in the quiet medical ward. Cliffjumper onlined newly repaired optics to stare; the tiny medic was slowly pushing a heavy-looking cart more than thrice his size towards the mobile berth.

Atop the tumbrel lay two small, pale gray hands. The grin, this time, couldn't be helped.

If the medic noticed the joy along his patients' faceplate, he gave no sign. Instead, small intakes heaved as the cart was finally pushed next to the gurney. "Vinally! Vhy do dey haff to make zhese stupit, stupit tings zo heaffy... Dey coult haff juss' mate dem hoffer or slite, but _no_, it hat to be on _vheels_.." Scalpel continued to grumble even as he leapt back atop a twitching red frame.

The grin vanished as claws held up what appeared to be a very small chainsaw.

"Oh --" Cliffjumpers' incredulous swear was interrupted by his own scream.

When the haze of pain ebbed enough to take stock of reality again, one servo was already halfway attached. The minibot could only stare, fatigue and drugs rendering him momentarily stunned, as various connections were made to reattach a sawed off wrist to the fresh limb.

Before the vital connections were fully made, Cliffjumper could begin to feel his new extremity. Gray fingers began to twitch; a fist even clenched.

"Ztop dat." Scalpel sighed and smacked the gray servo. "Or I'll leaf it juzt da vay it is, ont den _you'll _haff to figure out how to work un partially connectet zervo.**."**

Somehow, the former secretary was only amused by the threat. Still, he stopped trying to move.

It didn't take too long before the first hand was completely repaired. This time, as the saw returned to cut apart the second wrist, Cliffjumper braced for the pain without complaint.

When optics lit alight once again, the world swimming in the haze of agony, he was still staring at the first hand. By now, he could feel the servo as if it had always been there; delight caressed a drugged and pain-filled processor before something the minibot didn't expect began to happen.

Color began to form along the reattached limb. He had assumed the appendage had either been built from scratch or taken from an un-sparked protoform; gray and black were natural colors for either scenario.

However, a bright wash of yellow paint began to show itself. Cliffjumper stared, troubled by conclusions; these hands must have belonged to someone else. There was no other explanation as to why it would already have paint. However, it wasn't unheard for Autobots to donate their own frames for medical procedures and replacements whenever they upgraded or were lost to battle or accident; he wondered if Decepticons employed the same practice.

A drugged processor mused whether or not Shockwave would have the servos repainted; the bright yellow shone starkly against red.

"Now, let's take un look at dat back of yourss, hmm?"

* * *

As expected, Shockwave returned to retrieve his repaired slave the following day. By the time Scalpel allowed it to happen, however, it was well in to the afternoon; an annoyed slitted optic glared at the medic even as he clasped the collar around a still off-kilter minibot.

Blurr was quick to notice that the drugs were still in his friends' system as they made their way along the halls. As they walked along, the cerulean mech physically supported his slowed friend the entire way; more than a few times, the silent red mech would stumble over his own two pedes.

When Shockwave locked them inside his quarters and left as he usually did, a white faceplate looked over his friend with a clearer scrutiny; all Cliffjumper did was stare down at his new hands with a slight, distant confusion. He wondered if the red minibot even knew what was going on with all the drugs the insane medic must have pumped in to his systems.

With a deep sigh, Blurr gently took hold of a crimson arm and tried to pull his friend to the lounge; he didn't trust a dampened processor to allow Cliffjumper to stay upright for very long. Unexpectedly, a red frame refused to budge, stiffening against the pull.

"..Cliffjumper?" The speedster turned to frown in concern. "Cliffjumper, what is it? What's wrong?"

A moment of silence passed. Then, without a word, the red Autobot pulled away and walked slowly towards the berth-side closet.

Flabbergasted and concerned, all Blurr could do was follow. "Cliffjumper?"

As they neared the flat steel door, red pedes stopped before they were close enough for the motion sensor to set off; the former secretary simply stared at the metal door, seemingly entranced by his own reflection. Optics enlarged with growing horror.

Blurr winced as he understood what his friend was seeing. "..Cliffjumper, it.. It's better than having nothing at all and being half blind. It isn't as if we could have expected them to have the right color with them, especially since these _are _Decepticons we're talking about and they almost always only ever have one optic color."

If Cliffjumper had even heard him, he made no sign; instead, a bright yellow fingertip touched his own faceplate beneath the red optic that had been black and blind for a month. A shuddering intake was taken; then, mismatched vision glanced to the hand in front of his face.

After a moment, he stepped towards the closet again. It only took a few steps more for the door to slide open.

Surprisingly, the closet was empty. The corpse was gone.

"Where -- ..Oh. Oh, Primus." Blurr moaned and rubbed his own face as he realized what the missing corpse meant; he had seen the identification tags and the portraits they held. He easily recalled what shade Hubcap had once been. "Primus, Cliffjumper.."

"They tore him apart for spare parts." The words came slow and somewhat slurred; Cliffjumper didn't look away from the empty closet. "He offlined here, and they tore him apart for spare parts." The minibot brought his hands up to look at them again. "These were his servos."

A deep frown crossed Blurrs' faceplate; he didn't know what to say. He was thoroughly disturbed as his friend was by the situation; it was considered grotesque and horrible, in Autobot morality, to take body parts for repair without the explicit consent of the spark they had once belonged to. The very idea of forcing stolen circuitry upon an unwilling recipient sent shudders along most mechs and femmes' frames; it was something even horror fiction tended to use very infrequently.

"Why did they.. Couldn't they just.." The drugged minibot tried to get his words in order with little success. "He was _alive_, once. Why couldn't they.." He paused a moment. When he began to speak again, the words were low and filled with shock. "..I don't _get _it.. I don't understand.."

"I don't think we ever will, Cliffjumper." Blurr gently took hold of his friends' arm and tugged again; this time, the minibot allowed himself to be guided away. "Come on, let's try to get some recharge.."

* * *

The drugs didn't fade until morning. When they did, Cliffjumpers' systems decided to announce it by waking him from recharge; text flashed across his vision with a beeped warning only he could hear.

The first thing the minibot saw was the cage floor. A quick check against both his internal chronometer and the backlit clock hanging above the berth gave him the same answer; there was less than a few cycles before a brand new day would begin.

As recollection of the previous day slithered back within his processor, excitement began to bubble; he had servos, again. It was strange and slightly disturbing to consider the refurbished equipment _his_ servos -- not with the knowledge of where they came from in play --, so he regarded them as simply there. He could use them; that didn't necessarily make them his own.

Soon enough, Shockwave stirred. Blurr lay sprawled on the berth and refused to move until the large Decepticon was several steps away; the mismatched minibot stared in silence as the padlocked door was unlatched. He didn't move out of the transparent container until the cyclopean Decepticon was in the washracks.

Only then did he move to Blurrs' side. Neither of the captive Autobots said a word; a white faceplate simply offered a shaky smile to his red-plated friend and grasped yellow hands. The silent conversation was more than enough.

When the door to the washracks opened again and the speedsters' name was called, Blurr didn't resist; there was only a wince -- as there always was when that hated voice called his designation -- before chained pedes followed the command.

Cliffjumper waited until the door slid shut again. Then, he rushed for the communications console. As the screen lit up and the password box flashed along the screen, yellow hands moved to the keys.

Then, he stopped. The minibot simply stopped, unable to move in a frozen sort of terror; quite suddenly, he was very, very afraid of what he so desperately wanted to do. He had waited for what felt like forever for this very moment; yet, he was now frightened of the consequences should he get caught.

The hesitation lasted for several long seconds; recollection of those four horrid days of punishment for his last transgression became forefront in his processor. Primrose hands trembled.

Multicolored optics strayed to the brightly painted limbs; hands that had once belonged to a mech in exactly the same situation he suffered through. He had never known Hubcap -- all he knew of him was that sly, impish grin the picture on his identification tag sported --, but he somehow doubted the bright mech would have had this opportunity. None of the other six would have had the chance to call for help in this manner.

He couldn't waste such a thing; he felt as if it would be a cruel blow to Hubcaps' very spark.

Cliffjumper gulped. Shakily, he tapped in the password.

* * *

_No matter where I put my head_

_I'll wake up feeling sound again_

_Breathe; it's all you can_

_Tomorrow smells of less decay_

_The flowers greet this bloomin' fray_

_Live; that's all you can_

_It's all you can do_

_Ah, but don't, no_

_Don't sink the boat_

_That you built, you built to keep afloat_

_No, but don't_

_Don't sink the boat_

_That you built, you built to keep afloat_

-- 'Float', Flogging Molly


	24. Chapter 24

Author notes: I either need to stop writing at work or to write at work more. I apparently have a different writing style when I'm in the office. And it really, really confuses me. Huh.

I continue to blame World of Warcraft for delays, however.

Chapter is a bit on the short side; I got what I wanted out in this chapter with a bit less text than I thought it would take. Huh. This also marks the official segment where things start to get absolutely insane and the plot actually MOVES. ..It only took 24 chapters to get to actual movement. I suck.

RESPOND TIME. WOO.

Thing with No Talent: ..Don't goooo. You leave awesome reviews! XD

Dream Story Weaver: Bumblebee may yet still make an appearance. ;)

Peacewish: .. That was TERRIBLE. XD

* * *

_Help!_

_You know I've got to tell someone_

_Tell them what I know you've done_

_I fear you_

_But spoken fears can come true_

_We all live_

_We all die_

_But that does not begin_

_To justify you_

_It's not what it seems_

_Not what you think_

_No, I must be dreaming_

-- 'Bleed', Evanescence

**Souvenir: Chapter Twenty-Four**

* * *

"I almost couldn't do it." Those had been the first words a visibly troubled and subdued Cliffjumper had said when the two prisoners were left alone in Shockwaves' quarters. An exhausted shock splayed itself along a red and gray faceplate as the minibot sat, hard, on the chair by the window; mismatched optics managed to look at nothing yet still managed to gaze in to some far off, distant place. "I almost couldn't do it."

For his part, Blurr had been surprised by the somewhat confusing confession; the mech that had become such a near and dear friend had been unusually -- disturbingly -- quiet since the day had began. Even the flashes of humor that spoke of remaining sanity -- the minibot must have been fiercely been clinging to it for it to remain at all -- had been absent. It didn't help that, for the moment, that the speedster had absolutely no idea what the words were in reference to.

Slowly, the cerulean frame sat on the edge of the nearby chaise. Words were chosen with careful precision. "You almost couldn't do what, Cliffjumper?"

"The email." Cliffjumper either couldn't look to his fellow Autobot or refused to; the Elite Guard quickly noticed, much to his complete astonishment, that visible shame had crossed the smaller mechs' faceplate.

"I almost couldn't.." A shuddering intake was taken and released. "Couldn't get myself to type in the slagging keys. The frag is wrong with me?" A bright yellow hand rested against a crimson helm. "It's the only thing that could help us and I almost couldn't even.. I was almost too slagging scared to try. The frag is wrong with me?"

The self incrimination instantly troubled Blurr; the shame and doubt was so unlike the former secretary that the ordinarily fast-paced mech paused from the shock alone.

It took a moment longer for Blurr to realize that Cliffjumper had actually been this way for quite some time. Ever since he had returned, bloody and broken, from those four horrible days, the red mech had been cowed.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with you." The words came quietly with a worried care clouding every syllable. "Cliffjumper, you have to believe me when I say that there is absolutely, positively nothing wrong with you. Even after everything that we've been though here, you especially with whatever the frag happened to you in that room in the hall, it's no wonder we're scared out of our slagging processors."

Chained pedes stood and took several quick steps to the side of the chair; a single gentle blue arm wrapped itself around sloped shoulder guards that trembled; still, Cliffjumper neither flinched nor moved away from the partial embrace. "We've been dancing on the edge of a razor blade for so long that, sometimes, we don't even notice that our pedes have been bleeding and covered in energon, anymore, but that doesn't mean the cuts aren't still there or that we feel it any less. That doesn't mean it stops hurting. Frag it, in these past few weeks, I've been more of a mess than you've been and more of a wreck than I've ever been in my entire _function_, and I've been through a lot of crazy slag. Trust me, there is nothing wrong with you for being afraid and, might I add, you still bravely went and ahead and sent the email. There's _nothing _wrong with you."

Some time during the fast-paced speech, the red minibot had looked up at the taller mech with wide, wonder-filled optics. Mismatched panes of glass stared at the gently smiling white faceplate for several seemingly long seconds after the sped-up declaration.

Eventually, Cliffjumper spoke. "..Slag. That was fragging _poetic_, Blurr. What the slag was that?" A faintly amused smirk graced his faceplate.

There was a moment of stunned disbelief. Then, Blurr rubbed his faceplate and groaned. "That, my friend, was you ruining a perfectly good moment between us, is what that was." Despite the sigh that left him, the speedster was glad to hear the joy and humor -- as temporary as it always was in this place. "But, Primus, Cliffjumper, you understand what I'm trying to say, right?"

Slowly, a red helm nodded; the grin vanished. "Yeah.. Yeah, I know, it's just.." Cliffjumper shook his head; the minibot clearly struggled to find the right words. "..This slag is getting harder to deal with."

"I know." Blurr sighed; he gave the one-armed hug a slight squeeze. "I know."

Nothing about their situation had been easy; Blurr had known that it had only been a matter of time before they began to crack.

* * *

It was amazing, really, how fast things had changed.

Once upon a time, not too very long ago, the flashing mail icon could have easily been ignored without a care or concern. After all, a space bridge security crew simply guarding and maintaining various structures throughout the galaxy had never been important enough to warrant more than a generic 'all staff' email; the blue-tagged messages, more than not, simply didn't apply to them. At least, they hadn't, once upon a time.

Oh, but how times had changed.

As lethargic blue optics greeted reality and took in the flickering icon, a blearily, slowed processor nearly fell back in to recharge. As the chiming metronome continued to annoy him, however, the annoyance and confusion began to grow.

Then, recollection struck like a jolt of lightning and Rodimus Prime woke up.

The red and gold frame nearly tripped over itself in the sudden mad rush to the communications console; eager fingers were ready to type before they had even met the keys.

What was expected was an update from the Council or perhaps even something from the Magnus; even a newly discovered security file wouldn't have been too much of a shock. Instead, as the now familiar mash of letters and numbers trailed along the screen underneath a foreign address, a gasp evoked itself from the Primes' intakes.

A new message from the kidnapped secretary; it was more than they could have hoped for.

The email was quickly -- although, not nearly fast enough for the Prime -- copied to a portable datapad. Then, Rodimus ran as fast as his legs could take him out the door to his temporary quarters and down the halls of the small craft thad had been home for less than a fortnight.

Later, the Prime wouldn't be able to recall the race through the ship; only the frenzied pounding of his own fists against the door. "Ironhide, wake up!"

It took a very long fifteen seconds -- Rodimus even counted every internal click of his own chronometer -- for the door to slide open. The burly orange mech on the other side rubbed his faceplate with a tired sluggishness. "Boss? Wha --"

The datapad was abruptly shoved in to confused hands. "Translate!"

"..Uh.." Ironhide sputtered intelligently. Still rebooting from recharge, slow hands brought the datapad up to read; it didn't take long for the last pieces of slumber to vanish. "Hot slag, another email?!"

"Can you translate it?! What does it say?!" Rodimus sputtered with an urgent level of excitement that bordered on fear.

"Uh.." Ironhide looked over the email; after a moment, metal brows rose above surprised optics. "..Uhm, boss? Shouldn't we, uh.. Maybe wake th' others up, 'er somethin'?"

"What?" The red and gold Prime blinked once. Then, he gave a startled jerk as if he had been struck. "Oh, slag, you're right!"

With that, Rodimus ran down the hall again. Ironhide could only stare after his superior officer, both amused and concerned at the same time.

* * *

It had only taken a brief mention of the new email to rouse the rest of their oddly matched group. Although they would have once argued and grumbled about being woken from slumber, they now made their way in to the room that doubled as both a kitchen and conference room without complaint; it was only one of the many subtle new actions that spoke of how this case had changed them.

Ironhide had refused to read the message for himself until the rest of his allies were there. If he had, he feared, he might have skipped parts that might have meant more to his more intelligent teammates than himself. The former farmhand knew that he had a habit of glossing over anything he considered boring or useless and he didn't want to make that mistake now. Not with something so important.

After all, someone had almost certainly risked their very life just to send it.

The five of them sat around the only table in the cramped space without the usual grousing; four sets of blue optics pointed themselves at the orange mech with wary, yet eager anticipation.

Suddenly, Ironhide was very nervous; he had never been a talented orator. In the heat of battle, fear was typically absent in the rush of blowing things apart and using the gift Primus had granted him to fight; yet, actually having to speak to an even small crowd sent jitters along his meta.

In fact, he had to be coaxed to actually read the message. "Go on, kid." Brawn, of all mechs; it was really rather embarrassing.

He nearly complained about the term used. Instead, he looked to the datapad in hand, optics roving over the message for the first time.

"..Oh. Oh, slag, there's.. Kinda like a little map in here."

"A map?" Brawn visibly perked.

"Ironhide, mech, tell me there's a map of the 'con flagship in there." Hot Shot grinned widely.

"Uh, kinda, yeah. Just a word-by-word thing on a few halls. A couple places to and from where they're at, but.." Ironhide shook his head in wonder.

"..But it's more than we had before." Rodimus finished and let out an intake. "Might be just what we need."

As Ironhide glanced back to the datapad in his hands, metal brows slowly rose in surprise. "..S'also a list of names in here."

"What?" Red Alert blinked. "Names?"

"Yeah.." Ironhide's voice hushed as he scrolled down the small screen. "A couple dozen of 'em, I think. Says all the names in here are other bots the 'cons got. Some of 'em are even marked offline."

A moment of stunned surprise passed along multiple faceplates. After the short few seconds, the only femme in the group let out an intake that was audible in the silence..

"Wow." Red Alert shook her head. "Kidnapped by Decepticons, he's probably being tortured on a frequent basis.. And his priority was to get us information on the other poor sparks in there?"

"Slag.." Hot Shot boggled. "And this bot was a _secretary_?"

"If we ever get this mech out of there, I'm getting him a round." Brawn declared.

* * *

_We all live_

_We all die_

_But that does not begin_

_To justify you_

_It's not what it seems_

_Not what you think_

_I must be dreaming_

-- 'Bleed', Evanescence


	25. Chapter 25

Author notes: It's a plot chapter! Horaay! ..I think horay, anyway. Regardless.. ENJOY the movement of things! ENJOY, I SAY. GRR.

This chapter is partially written for Red Alice. She knows why.

This chapter is also partially written for Little Mean Peppershaker. She also knows why. Or will, anyway.

RESPOND TIME. HOO.

Puppylove: I also wrote Streamline, you know. That one's Bumblebee-centric and in a similar situation. ..Sort of. But that one illustrates how I'd see the Bee react to this sort of thing. In this chapter, tho, he's much more rattled.

Ayame-san 112: Ooh, I'm going to use this song eventually. Oh, yes.

Reka1207: Blurr has a vocabulary. :D

Thing With Not Talent: Medals and WHAT for them both?! XD!! What?

* * *

_Pretentious attention_

_Dismissive apprehension_

_Don't waste your time on coffins today_

_When we decline_

_From the confines of our mind_

_Don't waste your time on coffins today_

_Don't you see their bodies burning_

_Desolate and full of yearning?_

_Dying of anticipation_

_Choking from intoxication?_

_From behind those empty walls_

_From behind those empty walls_

-- 'Empty Walls', Serj Tankian

**Souvenir: Chapter Twenty-Five**

* * *

"There is a clear pathway." Came the monotone, expressionless voice of Perceptor as the digital map hung before them. The holographic display flickered with every stream of new data, constantly updating itself with even miniscule reports from various Elite Guard officers; it hadn't shut off since the first email had been translated. "We do not yet have the entire flagship down to exact specifications, but there is a clear path between the Decepticon hanger and to the room holding the two prisoners."

Despite this good news, the current Magnus let out a huff of displeasure. "Define 'exact specifications'. What's missing, exactly?" A violent glare had plastered itself on the dark blue faceplate in recent days; it maintained its' presence as the conversation went on.

"Minor details, Sentinel Magnus." It had been a surprise to everyone when the scientist had actually used the term; it continued to earn a slight move upright from Sentinel as his ego was stroked. "The exact size and shape of certain rooms along the hallway. However, the rooms are, in fact, there. Any rescue effort would have to bypass these rooms regardless, so they are of little concern compared to the problem as a whole."

"Does anyone have any idea how those cats would glide in?" A deep frown crossed Jazz's faceplate as he stood by Sentinels' side. "I'm not seein' any cooling shafts or any way to sneak in.."

For a brief moment, a frown seemed to cross Perceptors' faceplate; it vanished too quickly for anyone to be certain. The scientist had been participating in the finer details to make certain all of it made sense; the fact that Sentinel had specifically requested his assistance, much to everyones' shock and awe, had been enough to get immediate compliance. "That continues to be a problem. The only way in and out would be through this hallway."

"So, what you're saying.." Sentinel Magnus grit his dentals and covered his optics with a hand. "..Is that the only way to get in is through the front door?"

"Yes. And with use of an elevator." Perceptor didn't so much as blink.

"Frag!" Sentinel snarled, expression scrunching up in sheer fury. Just as the new Magnus appeared to either throw a fit or start blasting an angry, likely insult-filled tirade, the smooth baritone of the nearby ninja interrupted him.

"Hold up, now." Jazz glanced to the digital display with a thoughtful expression. "We got to sneak in through these halls filled with 'cons, get a couple of 'bots being held against their will out of there, and get out with nobot seeing us?"

"Precisely." Perceptor glanced to the Elite Guard. "However, I have no suggestions as who could execute such a mission."

Slowly, a sly grin crossed the cyber-ninjas' faceplate. "Actually.. I know a mech."

* * *

"What, again? Okay, people, back it up, back it up! We've done all of this before, already! Don't get too close to the the giant alien spaceship!" Captain Fanzone called over the crowd of onlookers and responding officers with a megaphone held in one hand.

It was a sight that the city of Detroit had become strangely accustomed to; the frequency of landing spacecrafts and interaction with alien visitors had been rising at such a pace in the past few years that even when a large, unfamiliar vessel landed in an empty parking lot, there wound up being more police arriving to gawk than actual citizens.

At least, Fanzone mused to himself, it wasn't blocking traffic. The last event with the Autobot ship -- and it certainly was an Autobot-owned craft by the symbol that blatantly stared at them from numerous decorative points on the whitewashed metal -- had been more of a headache than the police captain could have thought possible. The paperwork alone had lasted for days.

"Ugh.." The Brooklyn native sighed. "Why does it always have to be giant alien robots..?"

"Captain Fanzone?" The voice from above him nearly made him jump; instead, he glared up at one of the very same giant robots that annoyed him so frequently. "You'll let us handle it this time, I hope?"

"Yeah, yeah.." Fanzone grumbled. "Just try not to make a mess of things, will ya?"

"Sure." Optimus Prime laughed from above him. "They're probably here just to yell at us, anyway. It probably won't take more than a few hours."

Suddenly, there came a cacophony of excitement from the crowd of onlookers; Fanzone glanced back to the large spacecraft just in time to see a burst of steam erupt from the bottom of the ship a few seconds before a hatch door slid open and met the grass. Why the supposedly super-advanced alien technology still employed steam, Fanzone had no idea.

As expected, a pair of tall, metal figured stood inside the ship. Neither of them looked particularly pleased, although one did wave to the crowd. One of them stood tall, sported a deep blue color, an almost impossibly large chin and appeared thoroughly annoyed.

Fanzone could already tell that this was going to be a bad day.

"Hello.. Sir." The displeasure was clear in Optimus's hesitant voice; teeth grit from the Prime. Assuming, of course, giant alien robots actually had teeth.

"I'm not here for pleasantries, Optimus." Mr. Giant-Chin sneered with disdain. "I'm here to pick up one of your bots."

"What?" Optimus jolted in surprise. "Why? Who?"

The Detroit police captain glanced up at the worried robot that he would never admit was a friend; from the corner of his vision, he could see the rest of the Autobots stiffen and brace. It carried all the tension of an expectant brawl.

If a scuffle broke out, there was going to be a mountain of paperwork. Things like this was why he hated machines.

"Stay cool, O.P." The previously waving Autobot in the ship -- a thinner, sleeker one -- held up his hands in a placating manner. "We're not here to arrest anybot. We just wanna borrow one of your crew for a while, dig?"

"Not without the rest of my team there." Optimus continued to stare warily at the ship-bound pair.

"We don't have time for this!" The blue one with the chin exploded in obvious rage. "I want that ninja bot of yours in this ship right now, or I'm going to arrest the lot of you for insubordination!"

Clear surprise crossed Optimus's face; a stunned glance was sent back to the similarly shocked Autobots behind him before looking back to the furious blue robot. Fanzone could easily notice the forced calm; it was something every good officer learned to do.

"Not without the rest of my team." Each word was spoken slowly and with thick enunciation.

"Gah!" Another shrieked eruption; Fanzone already disliked the blue one. "Frag it, Optimus, I swear --" He stopped as the tall one at his side laid a hand on his shoulder. Then, he took a deep breath and straightened. "..Fine. Fine! Just get in here! And make it snappy!"

* * *

"What exactly do you want, Sentinel?" Optimus frowned deeply as they were led through the Elite Guard vessel.

"Yes, why do you want me here? Am I under arrest?" Prowl displayed a calm disposition, but even Optimus could spot the subtle hints of worry and distress. Sentinel was the new Magnus, after all, and never did like their group.

"One, it's Sentinel _Magnus_ now, Optimus." The Magnus in question snarled. "And two, I'm not going to tell you anything until your all of you sign silence contracts."

"A contract?" The Prime shared another baffled look with his friends.

"..What, seriously?" Bumblebee boggled. "Must be a big deal if the Elite Guard's going to all this trouble to keep it quiet."

"It's something pretty big, yeah." Jazz nodded back to the scout. "Biggest thing I've ever been part of, actually."

"Bigger than Safeguard?" The minibot blinked.

"..Well, it's relative, but I think so." The Elite Guard ninja seemed to muse.

From there, it hadn't taken long to get the few signatures needed to move forward; not one of them refused or asked questions about the written legalese. None of this was part of an ordinary event for the Elite Guard -- Sentinel especially, Magnus or not --, so it all must have been an extraordinarily critical event that was occurring. Something that, although they weren't certain what was happening, they wanted to be part of it.

"Okay.." Sentinel took a deep intake. "To put it as simple as I can for you maintenance bots, we need Prowl's skills for a very sensitive mission." He looked to the ninja in question with the same perturbed expression he ordinarily held. "Jazz insists your holo-projector mod is the best chance we have to pull it off."

"My holographic projector?" Prowl blinked widely behind his visor. "What am I being drafted for, exactly?"

"A rescue mission." Jazz frowned simply thinking about it. "I'm sure O.P. got this funky email a while back that was all mixed up?"

"The email with the strange address?" Confusion crossed Optimus's faceplate. "We got the follow up email from headquarters that said it was a glitch and to ignore it."

"Yeah, thing is, it was no glitch." Jazz sighed. "One of our own bots sent it from inside the 'con mother ship. It's all in secretary code and asking for help."

"The _mother ship_?! The same ship that's the flagship?!" Bulkhead sputtered.

"No Autobot's ever gotten out of that place in one piece!" Ratchet gaped. "Every bot knows that! And you want the kid to go in there willingly?!"

Behind his own visor, Jazz rolled his optics. "Not alone. There'll be a team."

"Bots lives are at stake here, you know." The subdued, tempered tone that came from Sentinel seemed ill-fitting; it was more shocking than any yell would have been. "I think you bots even know one of them. Field Agent Blurr was supposedly stationed on this mud-ball."

That earned an instant reaction.

"Blurr?" Prowl gaped.

"He was captured by the Decepticons? How?" Optimus's optics widened in shock.

"But the last we saw him was with the space bridge --" Bulkhead stopped at realization. "..That I built. Oh, slag."

"_What the slag happened to Blurr!?_" Bumblebee's vocalizer pitched in a horrid shriek.

The cry from the small scout caught everyone by surprise. Even Sentinel stopped a moment to stare at the terrified yellow mech.

"..Uh.." The Magnus sputtered a moment. "..Shockwave got hold of him."

"_What?!_" Bumblebee stared up at the new Magnus with the widest optics any of them had ever seen.

"..So.." Prowl shook his head slightly to clear away the astonishment the screaming had caused. "You need my assistance in order to rescue Blurr from the Decepticons. I assume he was captured for information?"

Both Elite Guard and Magnus hesitated; the silence only alarmed them both.

"If it's not for interrogation, then why do the 'cons want him?" Optimus gulped; he had the terrible feeling that he wasn't going to like the answer.

"It's not just Blurr." Jazz took in a deep intake. "When Shockwave ran off when we found out 'bout him, he went and kidnapped another bot right out of HQ. A bot by the name of Cliffjumper."

"Cliffjumper?" Optimus blinked. "Wasn't he Longarm's -- ..Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Sentinel grumbled. "Cliffjumper's been sending the emails. From what he told us in those emails, he and that agent are together and both being held by Shockwave."

"But.. Why?" Prowl frowned in continued confusion. "Are the Decepticons really so depraved that they would kidnap Autobots to torture for their own cruel amusement?"

There came another pause; the answer was obvious.

"From what we got from intel.." Jazz took a deep, slow intake. "..They're being held as Shockwaves' own personal spark slaves."

"The sick fragger apparently had a thing for minibots." Sentinel growled and folded his arms.

Horror rung clear on all of their faceplates.

"You aren't.." Ratchet was the first to eventually break the silence, voice barely above a whisper. "You aren't serious --"

A loud crash of metal against metal interrupted the medic; they all jumped and turned to stare at what had made the noise.

Bumblebee had fainted.

* * *

_Don't you see their bodies burning_

_Desolate and full of yearning?_

_Dying of anticipation_

_Choking from intoxication?_

_I want you to be_

_Left behind those empty walls_

_Told you to see_

_From behind those empty walls_

_From behind those empty walls_

_From behind those empty walls_

_From behind those God damn walls_

_Those walls.._

-- 'Empty Walls', Serj Tankian


	26. Chapter 26

It's a short chapter. Why? Writers block. Work.

Also, I just like to mess with you guys. 8D

Another plot chapter! WHEEE. Though, with some action. Next chapter, things get REALLY crazy. Aahahahah! 8D

RESPOND TIME. YAY. Maybe.

Koi: I am sorry, but most of the Earth bots have NOTHING to do with the rescue at all. XD Including Bumblebee. I'm sorry.

KyuKoneko: A little bit from column A, a little bit from column B.. XD Bumblebee was freaked out by everything, really.

Windwalker: ..Oh, you are going to hate me. In the original drafting of this part of the plot, Mirage WAS going to be in it. Was going to take Prowl's place with his own holographic thingie. But then my brain said include the Earth group via Prowl would be a better idea.. But, hey, there's still some plot to go, so.. Mirage may yet be dropped in.

Reka1207: In a word, yes. But it IS the heart of Decepticon territory.

Peacewish: Your computer can crash, right? Same thing with fainting! XD

Puppylove: ..Was 'more better' an Idiocracy reference?

* * *

_Where are we?_

_What the hell is going on?_

_The dust has only just begun to fall_

_Crop circles in the carpet_

_Sinking feeling_

_Spin me 'round again and rub my eyes_

_This can't be happening_

_Hide and seek_

_Blood and tears_

-- 'Hide and Seek', Imogen Heap

**Souvenir: Chapter Twenty-Six**

* * *

"You're not coming."

"What?! What do you mean, I'm not coming?!"

"This is a very, very dangerous mission. It's also a very important mission. Only the bots that absolutely need to go are going at all."

"What, so I'm not useful enough? I'm not smart enough? I thought I was still part of this team!"

"It's not about if you're part of this team or not!" A frustrated breath. "It's.. It's complicated."

"Oh, come _on! _So now you're saying I'm not smart enough to understand how 'complicated' this thing is?"

"That's not it."

"Then what _is_ it!? Why the slag can't I come?!"

A pause. "..You're too young."

"Excuse _me_, I'm perfectly old enough! I'm not some sparkling brat fresh out of boot camp, you know! I've been part of this team for stellar cycles! _Stellar cycles!_ I'm only a little bit younger than Ironhide, and if _he's_ going, then I'm going!"

"Actually.. Ironhide isn't going either."

A moment of stunned surprise. "..Slag, really? Rodimus, the frag's going on?"

The red and gold Prime took in a deep intake to steady frazzled nerves. "The thing is, Hot Shot, this.. This whole mess.. It's really, really dangerous. We're practically strolling right in to the core of Decepticon territory. It's the _flagship_, for Primus's sake!" Another deep intake was taken, this time to keep his voice from raising any further. "..You heard what Cliffjumpers' email said. There's _thousands_ of 'cons in there. If something goes wrong.. If something messes up, it won't be pretty."

"But.. It.." Hot Shot sputtered, righteous indignation deflating. "But that's why I wanna come! If something goes wrong, I can help kick 'con skidplate!"

"That's not.." Rodimus rubbed his faceplate. "Hot Shot, you know what the Decepticons do to prisoners, now. If something goes wrong, I don't want either you or Ironhide there. You're both, just.. Too young." A sigh. "..Primus, please tell me you get what I'm saying."

"..Yeah, but.." The pyrotechnician muttered in displeasure. "..This slag is fragged up."

"Slag, don't I know it."

* * *

"All right, bots, here's the deal." The troubled expression etched on Jazz's faceplate seemed ill-fitting compared to the Elite Guard's usual enthusiasm. Even in the midst of danger, the ninja had sported a grin and a joke; the unusual sobriety spoke volumes to the seriousness of the situation.

A laser-pointer was held in one servo and lit against an overhead map.

"The only way in and out is through the 'con hanger over here. We got one very small ship to spare for this shindig, but we got it outfitted with a cloaker. Our ship is gonna have to wait for the 'con hanger to open up to let one of their guys pass for us to sneak in. Perceptor swears it should work."

"What's keeping our ship from being picked up by energy signature scanners?" Rodimus Prime frowned as he looked up at the map.

"Perceptor rigged up these little doohickeys that'll stop the 'cons and everybot else from picking up your sigs." Jazz gestured to a small pile of cuff-like bracelets on a nearby table. "That's pretty much phase one. You'll each get one of those sig-stoppers and a few extra for the two bots you're going in for and in case somethin' goes screwy."

"Assuming we even get that far." Red Alert mumbled; Rodimus shot the femme a disapproving glare.

"Now, phase two gets a little funky." Jazz frowned. "That's gettin' to Shockwaves' room. It's another waiting game, though, since there's an elevator in the way. But it's a one-stop shop, since the elevator only goes up to the higher officers' rooms and down again, according to Cliffjumpers' email. So, you just gotta wait for that elevator to come down for someone and sneak in again. Though, you're gonna have to walk real slow the entire time so nobot hears you, so it's gonna be tricky."

From several mechanometers away, Prowl's visor lit up in sudden inspiration. "Why don't we pad our pedes?"

Several blank stares met the suggestion.

"..Pad?" Jazz blinked.

"On Earth, there are numerous organic predators that rely on stealth." Prowl looked to his fellow ninja. "Their feet, as they call them, come equipped with soft padding on the undersides of their soles. The soft material muffles the sound of their own steps."

"..That's.. Brilliant, actually." Rodimus boggled in amazement.

Jazz nodded, a characteristic grin crossing his face. "We'll get somebot to hook us up with some of these 'pads' before you get going." The smile suddenly vanished. "..Phase three is the hard part. Getting in and out of Shockwaves' place with the two bots. Perceptor already fixed up a passcode hacker for the door, so you don't have to worry about that. Thing is, we don't really know what's inside there or if the two'r in bad shape or not. It probably ain't pretty, though, and Shockwaves' probably gonna be in there. The best shot we got is to sneak up and knock him out before he can do anything."

A moment of silence passed as the assembled team digested the formulated plan; Rodimus Prime, Prowl, Brawn and Red Alert glanced to each other and to the map in a grim, subdued quiet.

Jazz glanced to each faceplate individually before speaking again, "..If you bots don't call us by a full solar cycle after you go in.. We're gonna assume the worst happened, dig?"

"We understand." Rodimus took in a deep intake; somewhere along the line, he had picked up the role of leader for this particular mission. "And we'll do our best."

* * *

As it wound up, Perceptor's inventions worked without a hitch. At least, the energy signature masks and the cloaking device appeared to be operating without a problem. Otherwise, the four seriously doubted they would have been able to get their cloaked craft inside the Decepticon hanger as easy as they had.

In fact, the smooth entrance -- gliding behind the afterburners of a cargo vessel and parking in the corner closest to the door -- almost seemed to be _too_ simple. No alarms sounded, no weapons fired, and not a suspicious glance was sent in their direction. Wary paranoia clung to all of their processors.

Despite the silicone strapped securely to their pedes and cushioning every step, they still moved slow and hugged the wall. As they walked, optics always on the lookout and never once losing focus, Prowl's holographic projector covertly scanned the area before them a full three seconds before they walked in to it. The mask worked perfectly; several sets of red optics strayed in their direction and never once noticed them.

It was all entirely too easy; they huddled together as they moved.

Along the way, the first signs of what Cliffjumper had proclaimed became clear; several Decepticons striding past pulled on chain-link leashes wrapped around mechs with blue optics. Autobot symbols lay marred on chest plates and dried energon clung to scarred frames. For a moment, they could only stare in horrified shock.

When an unlucky prisoner was suddenly assaulted, chassis torn open and spark chamber laid bare in the very public hall, they had to physically restrain each other from trying to help the poor mech. Even when screams and cruel laughter met their audio receptors, they forced themselves to keep moving.

Although, now, they knew for certain that everything the email claimed was truth.

The expected elevator blocked their path less than twenty minutes after entering the main hallway. It was exactly where Cliffjumpers' message had said it would be. However, the email had made no mention of the size; it was an incredibly large basin, made for even the largest soldier to pass in to. It was even ornate; far more decorative than a normal elevator should have been.

Fit for Megatron himself; considering where it went, they were not surprised.

The wall was clung to in the long wait for someone to use the elevator; nearly an hour passed before anyone did. When the shimmering, reflective doors -- possibly made of solid gold -- finally opened to allow a small service drone to exit, they rushed in as quickly as they dared.

The doors closed of their own accord; only then did Rodimus press the only button going up with a trembling finger.

It was nothing short of a small miracle that the hallway on the upper floor was empty. The projector was able to scan and disguise them again without anything turning amiss.

The hallway was just as elegant as the elevator itself; lavish ornaments were hung over doorways and iconic busts sat on pedestals along the walls. Pictures -- mostly of Megatron himself, although several were of high ranking officers or simply of the Decepticon sigil -- hung in dazzling frames of precious metals and jewels.

As far as they were concerned, it was a rather brilliant display of gluttony.

They made their way slowly through the nearly empty halls; a few drones wandered around to polish and shine, but were ultimately ignorable. An actual Cybertronian was nowhere in sight.

"..Too easy.." Brawn shook his head and whispered so low, the companions several inches away almost couldn't hear.

Still, they made their way onward. Twenty minutes of careful movement passed before they reached the door the map claimed belonged to Shockwave. The metal entryway was indistinguishable from every other in the hall.

As expected, a keypad rested by the gleaming gate. Red Alert hesitantly plugged the device given to them inside a small port; the quiet click caused them all to wince and look around in alarm.

No klaxons blared; no new figures were in the hall. The keypad flickered twice before letting out a soft beep and lighting up green.

Then, the door slid open.

* * *

_Oily marks appear on walls_

_Where pleasure moments hung before_

_The takeover_

_The sweeping insensitivity of this still life_

_Mm, what you say?_

_Mm, that it's all for the best?_

_Of course it is_

_Mm, what you say?_

_Mm, that it's just what we need?_

_You decided this_

-- 'Hide and Seek', Imogen Heap


	27. Chapter 27

Author Notes: Weekends are magical. This is one of those parts of the plot that's been with me since I started writing this insane trip in... September, apparently. Wow. I've been at this thing a WHILE. o_O Anyway, I'm unsure if it flows properly, but, hey, it's what my brain says happens.

Hehe, some of you are going to hate me. 8D

..Thie song choice for this chapter makes me giggle so hard. But it just seemed so.. Apt.

RESPOND TIME. HOOT.

KyuKoneko: I hope the insanity in this chapter meets your expectations. It's not quite what you had in mind, but.. Well.. *grin*

Tugera: I wrote that scene purposefully to mess with the Bumblebee fans. XD

Reka1207: But, but.. Cliffhangers are FUN. 8D

Not so Dark: *omnomnoms cookies* Wheee!

Black Moon Dragon: ..How about something in between good and bad? :D

* * *

_It's time to take some action, boys_

_It's time to follow me!_

_Through the mist, through the woods_

_Through the darkness and the shadows_

_It's a nightmare_

_But it's one exciting ride_

_Say a prayer, then we're there_

_At the drawbridge of a castle_

_And there's something truly terrible inside_

_It's a beast!_

_He's got fangs, razor sharp ones_

_Massive paws, killer claws_

_For the feast.._

-- 'Mob Song', Beauty and the Beast

**Souvenir: Chapter Twenty-Seven**

* * *

This had not been what they expected at all.

What the rescue party had expected of their enemies and the treatment they would bestow on prisoners had been a harsh, pain-filled existence in a cramped, dank cell. It was the mental image most individuals had of a prisoner of war. Granted, what they knew of the situation gave some changes; they were, after all, headed directly for Shockwaves' private quarters.

Still, they had not expected the posh, opulent apartment. The room was laid with such familiar things -- pillows, comfortable-looking chairs, even a decorative berth that could likely be found in most upscale stores -- that it took the four of them by surprise. For a moment, they stopped in surprise at the unanticipated view.

It all seemed so comfortable, so _livable_; it could have been mistakened for any home on Cybertron. Despite the momentary surprise, roving optics still found the most important facts in to focus.

The room was empty. Shockwaves' great form was nowhere to be seen. It was terribly silent, as well; the human term 'quiet as a tomb' came to Prowls' disturbed processor.

At least, with the overbearing silence and stunned surprise, the area appeared uninhabited for the first few seconds. It took far too long to notice the seemingly small figure curled up in a chair.

The seat itself had been built for a Decepticon's bulk; the comparatively small mech within seemed so very much like a sparkling with the size difference. The slouched, miserable position -- knees hugged close and intakes shaking with withheld hiccups and sobs -- only made the impression of youth all the more visible.

A pale blue coated the depressed frame. Wide, frightened blue optics stared at what must have seemed to him to be an empty, open door; wary confusion quickly took hold. Despite that no one guarded the door on either side, there was no attempt at escape.

Prowl didn't dare turn off the holographic disguise until the door slid shut of its' own accord. Then, the projector was shut off and the camouflage dropped. "Blurr!"

Terrified blue optics now stared in shock; the speedsters' jaw hung open in disbelief. Even as the rescue party rushed forward, the captured special agent was rendered speechless from the shock alone.

It wasn't until they were close to their young target did they notice the strip of chain link wrapped through wheeled ankles.

"Woah.." Rodimus Prime sputtered as he stared; realization was quick to form. "That's how they kept you from escaping..!"

"Blurr, it's all right. We're here to get you out of here." Prowl looked around, searching for the missing piece to their plan.

"Where's Cliffjumper?" Brawn frowned deeply. "Why isn't he here?"

"..You came.." Blurr half whimpered, half squeaked. "..You really, actually came.."

"Blurr!" Red Alert pushed past a surprised Prime to kneel in front of a shellshocked Elite Guard. A slender hand grabbed hold of a cerulean shoulder guard and gave a small shake. "Special Agent Blurr, you need to focus! We don't have much time and we need to know where Cliffjumper is!"

For a brief moment, Blurr simply stared. Then, his chest plate began to heave in new hiccups and resurfaced emotions. "He's.. He's not here.."

* * *

_The simplest of errors had been their downfall._

_ It had all started as an average day. Although 'average' now meant something far different than it once had, the day had begun with no more than the usual level of terror._

_ Blurr, at least, had no inclination that anything was amiss when Shockwave led him to the washracks. There had not been any deep, terrible feeling in his spark to foretell what would happen; so, the imprisoned Autobot hadn't struggled on the way to the morning cleansing. In fact, he did nothing more than shudder as claws and bristle alike scoured his frame as water washed over them._

_ The only prediction he had was that if he was ever free of this place, he likely would never be able to bathe himself without revolting recollection._

_ After the removal of spare scrapes caused by their nightly activity and close inspection by a horrid red optic, an oil would normally be poured on every part of his body. The lavish, sweet-smelling elixir gave his frame a gleaming shine; despite the luxury, the speedster knew that it only made him more of a trophy for his captor to show off to other Decepticons._

_ Claws gently nudged the cerulean mech out of the overhead spray before heading to the canister nestled in the corner. The water continued to fall, wasted, even as Shockwave lifted the logo-wrapped jar. However, the Decepticon stopped in what appeared to be surprise. A swift talon nudged the flip-top open and peered inside._

_ Perhaps it was empty; Blurr could only look on in a mix of confusion and the ever-present fear._

_ With a casual shrug, the towering cyclops sent the empty jar hurtling towards a waste bin against the wall. Then, cloven pedes headed for the door._

_ Panic flared; Blurr simply knew that Cliffjumper would have no warning. The red minibot would almost certainly be at the communications console; if Shockwave caught him typing in a message, something absolutely horrible was bound to happen._

_ So, chained blue pedes lifted themselves upwards. A captured Elite Guard did the only thing that came to mind; he yelled, flailed, and forced himself to slip and fall._

_ It worked; a baffled Shockwave turned to stare at his fallen form instead of his friend as the automatic door slid open. By the time the Decepticon turned around again, shaking his head in what appeared to be amusement, Cliffjumper had had enough time to log out of the system. Blurr could actually see it from where he was; the log-in bar was clearly on the screen._

_ However, the terrified minibot had not been able to move away in time; he was scampering away from the console as a slitted optic stared._

_ "What are you doing?" Shockwave hissed. Despite the fact that he was still dripping wet, he stalked forward with heavy steps; one claw reached forward to grab a red-plated arm._

_ Cliffjumper was pulled back towards the communications console, shaking and silent; the talons not gripping his limb in a vice-like grip strayed along the keyboard._

_ "..Were you trying to hack in to my personal files, Cliffjumper?" A vicious, furious hiss; an angry glare aimed itself at the former secretary._

_ The minibot in question quaked in terror; beyond a gulp, he either wouldn't or couldn't respond._

_ A bright red optic glared down at the quivering mech. "You understand, of course, that you must be punished for this transgression." Slowly, Shockwave looked back to the screen; his free claw tapped in the password. "Let's give a call to Wire Tap, shall we? I'm certain he'll be delighted to see you again."_

_ Blurr wailed in denial; Cliffjumper collapsed to his knees._

* * *

"..You finally came, but.. But Cliffjumper isn't here. He.. The slagger, Shockwave took him away again when he saw him by the console over there and although he didn't actually see Cliffjumper logged in or trying to do anything, he _suspected_, and suspicion is enough in this Primus-damned place, and.. And Shockwave sent him back to Wire Tap this morning and it could be _solar cycles_ before he comes back if he even survives another round with that.. That thing!"

The shaking had only increased during the quickly rambled explanation; a nearly hyperventilating mech hiccuped and clicked with barely repressed cries. "You came, Primus, you finally came for us, but Cliffjumper isn't here! And he always said you'd come get us, he never stopped hoping.. But the slagger sold him again and I couldn't stop him.."

The rescue party had not been able to understand everything their target had said -- identical confusion marred all four faceplates --, but what they had managed to hear from the sped-up speech was more than a little disturbing.

"What do you mean he _sold_ him again?" Brawn managed to sputter as he grabbed hold of the strip of chain.

"The last time Shockwave got fragged off at Cliffjumper, the fragger actually sold him to this horrible bot called Wire Tap for a few solar cycles like some kind of.. Of prosti-bot!" A great hiccup shook Blurrs' entire frame.

"..What..?" Prowl gaped, visor wide, in sheer horror.

A sudden snap rent the air; the chains in Brawn's servos broke apart within the minibots' extraordinarily strong grip. Without a word, the stout, tan mech grabbed what was left of the cruel restraints and pulled them out and away; he tossed them aside with a snarl of disgust.

All Blurr could do was stare at his now free legs in shellshocked disbelief.

"..Uhm, boys?" Red Alert shifted in place. "We should probably get out of here. We don't know when Shockwave's going to get back here, and I really, really don't want to end up a spark slave if it's all the same to you."

Blurr continued to stare at his pedes; his voice came much slower than usual, quiet and subdued. "You're a femme. The femmes all go to the breeding sector."

There came a very long pause.

Red Alert opened and closed her mouth several times in the attempt to form words. After a moment of obvious horror, the femme finally managed to speak what was on all their processors. "..Okay, this only makes me want to get out of here all the faster."

"What about Cliffjumper?" Finally, Blurr looked up at his possible rescuers. "I can't just leave him here!"

"We don't know where he is and we just don't have the time." Rodimus looked tot he trembling blue mech with wide optics. "We probably won't even get another shot at this. Red's right, we need to go and we need to go now."

"But..!" The speedster shook in indecision.

"Blurr." This time, it was Prowl's voice that came low and even. "Would Cliffjumper want you to pass this opportunity for escape for his sake?"

The response was instant. "No.. No, he wouldn't.."

"Then let's get out of here!" Rodimus rushed to Blurrs' side and snapped a metal cuff on one wrist. "Someone help me get those pad things on him..!"

* * *

_Through a mist, through a wood_

_Where within a haunted castle_

_Something's lurking that you don't see every day_

_Sally forth! Tally ho!_

_Grab your sword! Grab your bow!_

_Praise the Lord and here we go!_

_Hearts ablaze, banners high_

_We go marching in to battle_

_Unafraid although the danger just increased_

_Raise the flag, sing the song_

_Here we come!_

-- 'Mob Song', Beauty and the Beast


	28. Chapter 28

Author notes: ...I wrote this chapter all at work again. XD; I really need to stop doing that. One of these days, I'm going to get caught. There's only so many times my coworkers will overlook me writing in to my bright pink 'KEEP CALM AND HAVE A CUPCAKE' notebook.

This chapter changed multiple times while writing it, for some reason. Ah well. Wheee!

How the hell are we on chapter twenty eight. o_O

RESPOND TIME. HUTTAH.

Not so Dark: I hope this is all 'unexpected' enough. ;) *omnoms cookie* 8D

Koi: My brain has formed a possibly unhealthy fascination for Cliffjumper. Whenever this happens, my brain tends to torture them. XD

Smoking Caramels: ..Maaaybe. Maybe nooooot. 8D

Animaluvr3: Curiously, my brain decided that Carerra had fallen in love with Hubcap during their time together AFTER I wrote their chapter. I'm trying to figure out a way to drop her back in to the plot, tho. She just doesn't fit anywhere as of yet, tho.. :/ Tho, if I get enough people asking for it, I may write a side fic about the Original Six.

Black Moon Dragon: Oh, the ending may surprise you. Oh, yes, it will. *cackle* There's still some plot to go, anyway!

* * *

_Cut and bruised by the fall again_

_Lick my wounds like a dog again_

_Is that a light at the end of the tunnel?_

_That I see?_

_I see, I see_

_Please let it be but don't_

_Wake me 'til the morning after_

_Wake me 'til the morning after.._

-- 'The Morning After', Chester Bennington

**Souvenir: Chapter Twenty-Eight**

* * *

"Wait!"

The sudden call caught the four of them by surprise. They had been fully prepared and ready, at that moment, to leave behind the heinous place that was Shockwaves' quarters and escape from the Decepticon ship. In fact, they were very quite eager to do so; it was why Blurrs' exclamation was neither expected nor appreciated.

"What do you mean, 'wait'?" Brawn boggled, twitching with urgency. "We have to move!"

"Please, I only need a moment. I have to let him know I didn't just forget about him!" Blurr pulled back from his would-be rescuers and hobbled back towards the discarded strand of chain. Although his pace was hurried and increased by his natural skill, he held the shortened stride and near limp developed from the nearly three months of forced restraint.

If the speedster noticed the pity on four sets of optics aimed in his direction, he gave no sign. Instead, a white and blue hand reached in to his subspace pocket; it took a brief few seconds to find what was sought.

Quickly, something very small was pulled out and set atop the chains.

"What did --" Rodimus began.

"Cliffjumper will know what it is." With no further explanation, Blurr hurried back to the waiting mechs and femme. "Okay, I'm ready. Let's get the frag out of here."

* * *

Rodimus had hoped that the way out would be as straightforward as the way in. The simplicity of their entry may have been able to lull the Prime in to a false sense of security had he not been rattled by what he had learned; he glanced to the holographic projector perched on the ninja-bot's wrist to make sure it still functioned out of sheer paranoia. Although it continued to work as intended even as they re-entered the poshly decorated hall, he half expected something very big to go wrong very fast.

It had, after all, been too easy to get in. These things had a habit of going wrong at the worst of times.

Silence reigned despite the absolutely empty and seemingly deserted hall; none of them dared to speak, their leader least of all. They simply hugged close and kept to the wall, walking slowly towards the elevator that was their only way down.

The corner by the gleaming gates was chosen as their waiting spot; they knew it was only a matter of time until the door would open. So, they leaned against the walls and waited.

However, it took much longer than the first time; nearly two and a half hours passed before the soft, melodic chime rent the air to signal its' arrival. When the doors slid open, faint, cheerful music crooned from within; it seemed to follow the Decepticon that strolled out.

The upbeat music was almost mocking in nature when compared to the identity of the enemy in question; the hidden group paused in nothing less than terror.

Megatron, lord and leader of the Decepticon army, calmly strode out of the elevator.

Rodimus almost choked. He had never seen the overlord of the enemy empire outside of recordings; to be so close reeked of danger and set off every warning within his processor.

Still, they had to make it inside the elevator no matter how close the proclaimed 'slag-maker' was. Although steps were taken much slower and with absolute terror, they still took the chance. Silently, the concealed five huddled and shook in the back of the small basin.

Less than five steps had been taken by the Decepticon lord in to the hall; then, the great gray mech stopped. An armored helm glanced back in to the still open elevator with narrowed optics and clear suspicion. He neither moved away nor closer; he simply stared.

Then, the doors slid shut. The automatic chime almost sounded like a victory bell and a praise at the clean escape.

None of them dared to press the button. This time, they waited for the elevator to go down of its' own accord and at someone else's beck and call. It felt like a very long stretch of time until the digital display changed numbers and the door opened again.

Thankfully, a service drone was all that rolled in. They had no fear walking around it.

There had been no need to rescan the hall; likely for the best, as there were many more Decepticons milling about than there had been before. The crowd was so thick, they couldn't hope to get through to go further down the corridor.

Rodimus gaped at the mess of frames; it took a moment to notice why there was such traffic. The large number of bodies appeared to be blocked not by frivolity or the hour, but by a gaping hole in the ceiling some distance away. Sparks rained down from the mess of wires; from his position, the Prime could actually see the very large, bulky, and apparently clumsy Decepticon who was staring at the mess with a sheepish expression. A much smaller bot appeared to be yelling at him, but they were too far to hear what was said.

"How in the.." A nearby seeker sputtered. "..How did _that_ happen?"

"Something about high-grade and a 'your creator' joke, from what the rumor mill says." His companion -- identical in model but sporting different colors -- shrugged.

"Well, slag." The first flier growled. "_Now_ how the frag are we getting to the hanger? I really don't want to get punished for being late for my shift for this slag."

"There's always the roundabout way to get there." The second smirked; wings twitched in faint amusement. "It'll take maybe twenty cycles or so to get there, but it'll probably take less time then waiting for this slag to get cleaned up."

His companioned blinked. "..We have a roundabout way?"

"Come on, Thrust. I'll show ya." A humored laugh. "You seriously need to pay more attention to the layout of this place."

With that, the Decepticon walked off. His baffled friend followed.

The hidden Autobots exchanged a glance; Rodimus boggled at the incredible luck of overhearing such a conversation. It all seemed too good to be true.

Without any other real course of action and a swelling desire to leave as soon as possible, they followed the chatting jets; a distance was kept to avoid a chance the two fliers might hear them, silicone padding or not.

The further away from the main halfway they walked, the less crowded it became. After half their journey was made -- judging by the Decepticons' proclaimed estimation -- it became almost deserted except for the two they were trailing.

As they went on, the hall became increasingly dim and dingy; spare spots of rust were visible on the walls and the doors became further spread apart. It was certainly a lesser used and poorly maintained hall.

"..Ew." The Decepticon following his companion winced as he stepped on a puddle of unknown liquid. "Now I know why no one comes down here."

Suddenly, a cry sounded from behind them; both Autobot and Decepticon whirled at the noise.

A very large, hulking mech lumbered through the hall with steps heavy enough to echo. It quickly became apparent, however, that the yell had not been caused by the incredibly large bot or any accidental bump or stepping he -- and they sincerely hoped it was a he -- may have caused; instead, tethered to a now familiar collar and chain was a mech with blue optics that barely kept up. The enslaved Autobot limped with one leg twisted in an entirely wrong direction.

Rodimus recognized the large mech; their group had, after all, battled him not too long ago. Memories of the fight that had left the Prime with one of the worst cases of Cosmic Rust the Autobots had ever seen sent a small shudder along his frame; he doubted he would ever forget the designations or faces of the Decepticons they had fought.

"H-Hey!" One of the seekers yelped as the mech came close enough to nearly hit them. "Watch it, fat-aft, what are you doing?! You can't even _fit_ in here, you --"

The much larger Decepticon -- Blackout, as it wound up -- stopped to glare.

"..Amazing Decepticon, you. Do you maybe need some help?" A nervous grin spread across the fliers' faceplate. His companion took several steps away and pretended not to notice either of them.

The titanic mech simply shook his head and kept on walking. He didn't move very far; Blackout stopped by one of the few doors in the hall and tethered the leash nearby.

If the injured slave thought he could relax at the pause in activity, he was quickly proven wrong; hands individually the size of his entire chest plate grabbed the much smaller mech and slammed him against the wall. An insectile faceplate move forward and forced their lips to meet with enough strength to propel the smaller helm back.

The slave didn't struggle; yet, panic was quick to form and shone clear in bright blue optics. A squeak that might have been a cry of pain erupted from the imprisoned Autobot at the molestation.

The hidden Autobots had no choice but to watch the cruelty in silence; the giant Decepticon blocked the hall with his large frame. They couldn't get around him without possibly giving away their existence.

The seekers they had been following didn't have that problem; with an audible grumble, both simply flew over their much larger ally and landed further down the hall.

After several seconds of discomforted cries, the slave was released and let go; his body dropped to the floor with a shriek of pain. As this happened, Rodimus noticed the seekers turning down the hall and vanishing from sight. A moment later, Blackout walked through the automatic sliding doors that were somehow just large enough to allow him access.

Rodimus paused; he glanced from the end of the hallway and where the seekers had gone to the slumped over, whimpering slave chained nearby, Before he could come to a decision on what to do, a gulp came from behind him.

"_Oh_.. Trackback.." Barely a whisper and partially a moan.

The Prime turned to stare at the speedster they were trying to rescue. "You know this bot..?" He kept his voice as low as possible.

Blurr gulped again and nodded.

Guilt suddenly clawed at Rodimus's processor for even thinking of leaving the poor mech behind, if only for a moment. Decision made, he looked to Brawn and nodded twice.

Without a word, the extraordinarily strong minibot lurched out of their concealed position. Tan and brown servos grabbed for the leash and snapped it apart in a single pull. Then, he grabbed the stunned mech it had been attached to and pulled him in to their cloak.

Before the scarred Autobot could think to scream, Blurr clamped a hand over his mouth. "Ssh! Be quiet, Trackback, it's me and we're getting out of here! Don't make a sound!" The words came out in a very low, quiet hiss. If they hadn't been inches away, none of them would likely have been able to hear.

It worked; Trackback fell silent under the order, although he exhibited the classic signs of shock. Tremors quickly began to form on the yellow and blue chassis and only increased as a cuff was clamped around one wrist.

With the injury to his leg so obvious, there was no reason to attach the padding; Brawn simply lifted the mech nearly twice his size in his arms.

Then, they continued their escape.

* * *

They may have lost the seekers, but it appeared Primus continued to watch over their endeavors; the halls held no more extra doors and ended in only one doorless exit. At the end of the second turn, an arrow-marked sign with the word 'hanger' even hung above them.

Just as the group were starting to suspect either diving intervention or a very convoluted trap, a very loud alarm startled them. They froze as the klaxons blared and the red lights lit up around them.

"Prisoner escape!" Someone yelled over the intercom. "A category 'A' prisoner has escaped from sector twelve! Prisoner escape!"

"Stay close." Rodimus hissed. "We're still invisible to these guys. Let's keep going."

So, they did; their previous slowed gait increased in speed, but their plan otherwise remained unchanged. They continued to stay as close to the wall as physically possible without merging with it; their servos grazed the steel as they walked.

The padding underneath their soles continued to perform excellently. Even with their hastened speed, no sound came from their pedes. The alarms even helped to hide them; any noise from their persons was almost certainly drowned by the blaring wails. If nothing else, the chatter of Decepticons in the approaching hanger -- filled with confusion and trying to figure out who had lost what slave -- made their individual steps impossible to distinguish.

The hanger was exactly where the sign and the seekers had said it would be; they even spotted the Decepticon jets they had been trailing not too far from their position.

Intakes became hushed with their close proximity to both a hub of enemy activity and their own hidden craft. They barely dared to breathe at all as they made their way towards the cloaked vessel.

The vehicle had remained untouched during the long hours they had been gone; still disguised, the six climbed inside.

Blurr and Trackback -- both shaking and silent -- were strapped in first. Then, the rest of the rescue group buckled themselves; Rodimus grabbed hold of the pilots' controls as Prowl sat next to him.

Still, they had to wait for the hanger door to open again. With alarms still blaring and Decepticons visibly searching every nook and cranny, they wondered if it would open at all or if they would be caught.

The very same jets they had followed came disturbingly close to their hidden vehicle, looking behind and inside cargo boxes. They watched the approaching seekers warily, ready to force their way out if they needed to.

The cycles ticked by with a nerve-wracking air; Trackback curled up in to a tight ball in his seat and leaned against Red Alert sitting next to him. The medic, trained in both physical and mental injury, pet the once golden helm in the attempt to sooth the mech; she cringed at the unmistakable feel of dried energon.

It was a very long twenty minutes before the hanger door let out the loud, unmistakable groan of opening metal. Why their exit was finally parting for them, they neither cared or noticed; Rodimus simply slammed down on the pedal, made certain not to collide with any other craft, and took off as fast as their ship allowed them.

The still invisible vessel sped off faster than was probably considered safe. Only when they were far enough away that they could no longer see the enemy flagship with their naked optics did they dare to relax.

"Yes!" Brawn let out the first cheer. A grin of sheer relief then spread along Prowl's face. Rodimus and Red Alert both began to laugh in a nearly hysterical manner.

Trackback slumped against his seat belt and passed out.

* * *

_I'm so tired_

_There has got to be an end_

_To the pain I feel when I'm awake_

_And alive, alive_

_Alive and I'm dreaming_

_Is that a light at the end of the tunnel?_

_That I see?_

_I see, I see_

_Please let it be_

-- 'The Morning After', Chester Bennington


	29. Chapter 29

Author notes: IT WAS ELEVATOR MUSIC. XD

Baaah.

..I like weekends. Even if my brain is dead.

ALSO. People. Poll on my profile. It regards this fic. GO VOTE PLZ. 8D

RESPOND TIME, WOO.

Peacewish: I hope this meets expectation. ;)

P.A.W.07: Pfffft, oh, god, no. I am NOT leaving this mess like I did Streamline. This thing WILL have a conclusive ending. When I finish this thing, it'll be DONE. THASSIT.

Tugera: My brain says the other seeker was Acid Storm. Tho, my brain kind of giggled at the sight of the bright neon seekers on the TF Wiki page, so that's probably why.

Not So Dark: Omnomnom! 8D Yay, brain food!

* * *

_Another dream that will never come true_

_Just to compliment your sorrow_

_Another life that I've taken from you_

_A gift to add on to your pain and suffering_

_Another truth you can never believe_

_Has crippled you completely_

_All the cries you're beginning to hear_

_Trapped in your mind _

_And the sound is deafening_

_Let me enlighten you_

_This is the way I pray_

_Living just isn't hard enough_

_Burn me alive inside_

_Living my life's not hard enough_

_Take everything away_

-- 'Prayer', Disturbed

**Souvenir: Chapter Twenty-Nine**

* * *

When the alarms had gone off, Cliffjumper knew that something very important had happened.

It hadn't been the blaring klaxons themselves that brought about this epiphany; he had known that the Decepticon flagship would eventually have some sort of problem to require the alarms to be installed in the first place. It hadn't even been the intercom shouts of an escaped prisoner that troubled him; with so many being held, someone was bound to break free of the restraints sooner or later.

What had made the moment relevant -- the single thing that stood out to a processor clouded by pain -- was that Wire Tap had stopped.

At the time, the ebony and crimson Decepticon had been on top of the minibot bound to the berth. Although the spark ravaging his own was certainly much smaller than Shockwaves', it was still very painful; not to mention demeaning and demoralizing. Their sparks had been entwined for hours; Wire Tap had kept moving the entire time, apparently intent on getting every credit he had spent out of the smaller chassis.

However, when the alarms had gone off, Wire Tap had actually stopped. Confusion crossed the Decepticons' pale gray faceplate; just as it appeared he would ignore the alarms and continue his ministrations, the intercom had let out the warning.

"Oh, fragging Pit in a hand basket!" The Decepticon hissed before he scrambled away. Hurriedly, servos dug around the mess of a personal quarters around him, searching through piles of datapads, unusable weaponry and personal mementos. After a short couple of cycles, the Decepticons' own chest plate was pulled from the debris and set back on his frame.

With that, Wire Tap fled; he ran out of his own room without a second glance.

Cliffjumper was left where he was, strapped down to the berth.

He made no motion to struggle; he had done so, the first time he had been sold, to absolutely no success and a sound lashing for his trouble. There was no point to resistance now, even if there was a chance he could free himself. After all, even if he were free of the restraints and the door was miraculously unlocked, all that stood between himself and freedom was a ship filled with Decepticons.

So, with a deep sigh, the former secretary attempted to ignore the chill of his own naked spark to wait. He shifted in the metal straps in the attempt to get comfortable. For several minutes, all he did was listen to the distant sound of blaring klaxons.

The soft shuffle of moving objects seemed very loud in the near silence; a gray and red helm turned to the source of the sudden noise in what should have been an empty room.

Small, beady optics stared back. It took a moment for Cliffjumper to recognize the tiny, wire-coated creature hiding beneath a makeshift cave of discarded datapads and empty cubes. Rows of tiny teeth gnawed on something he didn't recognize, but it let out a spark with every tiny bite.

A turbofox; either a wild one or someone's lost pet. Regardless of how the unkept creature managed to get in to a space-locked ship full of Cybertronians, it was there now and apparently tame enough to crawl about on stringy, flat appendages without visible fear.

He was locked in a room with vermin; Cliffjumper cursed his poor luck and looked away from the creature.

For nearly an hour, there were no sounds except for the alarms -- and even they quieted after a time -- and the turbofox milling about. Eventually, the small animal crawled close enough to the restrained frame to sniff and poke curiously.

Cliffjumper stared at the creature and sincerely hoped it didn't bite him; Primus only knew if the thing carried any viruses.

Just as he was considering trying to frighten the creature away, a hiss rent the air. Alarmed at the familiar noise of a door sliding open, mismatched optics looked to the now open entryway; panic flared at who stood there.

He had expected Wire Tap; instead, Shockwave stood there. Cliffjumper couldn't quite tell what his kidnapper was thinking, but that hated flat faceplate was staring directly at him.

Shockwave said nothing; he simply strode in with a casual air and glanced around. It didn't take particularly long for the cyclops to find what he was seeking. Finely tipped claws grasped at something from within the many surrounding piles; with a gentle pull, the front of the bound minibots' vehicle mode was wrenched out.

Panic faded to confusion as claws reattached his chest plate to its' proper place; he had only been with Wire Tap for less than half a day. He had expected a torment similar to the last time; several solar cycles of agony had been assumed.

Still, he didn't dare ask about the change of plans, even as the metal bands were removed and claws lifted him to his pedes. A familiar collar was latched to his throat; he didn't bother to resist. As they began to move off, Cliffjumper looked to the floor; he was simply too confused and disturbed to think about fighting.

Suddenly, Shockwave gave a slight jolt; a single optic glared downwards in distaste. Then, a cloven pede kicked at the turbofox that had bitten him; the creature scurried away.

Inwardly, Cliffjumper cheered for it.

As they walked through the halls, it was obvious that something had happened; soldiers rushed about with far more urgency than usual. From the din of noise, very little of individual conversations could be made out; it wasn't until they were near the elevator did someone yelling about 'a stolen prisoner' made itself clear.

Cliffjumper pondered the words; someone had been _rescued_ rather than escaped? Or had there been an altercation between Decepticons?

There were no clear answers; only the chaos of confusion around him. A glance up at Shockwave revealed very little; there was no clear emotion in that single optic.

The elevator ride and subsequent exit was silent save for the annoyingly happy music crooning from the inbuilt speakers; the former secretary had never liked elevator music before being captured and it now only served as a bizarrely depressing reminder of the world he had been taken away from.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened until they entered Shockwaves' room. At first, Cliffjumper almost didn't notice that anything was amiss; then, he realized it was entirely too quiet.

No chains rattling from Blurrs' restrained ankles, no gasp, no voice, no demands on his welfare; the room was empty.

The only sound, for the moment, was the door sliding shut behind them.

Claws released the end of the leash but made no motion to unlatch the collar. Instead, heavy pedes rushed away and towards the lounge. Cliffjumper made no motion to move; instead, he followed with his optics. It didn't take long to notice what had caused the sudden hurry on the cyclops' part.

The chains ordinarily wrapped around his friends' feet were now on the floor in several pieces. Mismatched optics widened in shock.

"Impossible." Shockwave snarled; he picked up something small in his claws from the small pile of chains, growled at it, and tossed it aside.

Then -- with a suddenly darker tint to his armor --, Shockwave walked very quickly out of the apartment. The door let out the tell-tale click of a lock when it closed shut.

As soon as Shockwave was gone, Cliffjumper ran to the chains. The leash still attached to his throat held heavy without something gripping the other end; it made his mad dash slower than usual. By the time the minibot was at the fallen chain-link, his neck burned from the weight.

The pieces of chain-link on the floor were certainly Blurrs' restraints; some of the metal had been stained blue from their grindings against the speedsters' legs.

Had _Blurr_ been the one to escape? Had he been what the alarms were about?

The object Shockwave had tossed aside still lay barely a few feet away; stunned by suspicion alone, Cliffjumper slowly picked it up.

It was Blurrs' credentials.

At first, he didn't understand why Blurr would have left his packet of credentials behind; from what he understood, it would have been safely tucked away in his subspace compartment. It would have been impossible to accidentally drop it. Mystery having presented itself, yellow hands opened the packet despite knowing what was inside.

The first thing that the captive Autobot saw inside the packet was Blurrs' ID tag. His picture -- the smirking, self-confident Elite Guard that had existed before captivity -- grinned at him from within.

Blurr had left his identification tag behind. After nearly three months of refusing to leave it in the closet with the rest of them, he had left it behind now in his apparent escape. Blurr had said that the tags represented those that _had_ been there; he had said he refused to give up that part of himself. To do so, the speedster had claimed, would mean the very core of his spark was gone.

The only logical explanation was that Blurr knew he would no longer be there; he must have known he would make a clean escape.

Words overheard in the hall came back to the forefront of his processor; Blurr had been 'stolen'. He really had been rescued, then.

The Elite Guard must have finally arrived. Blurr had been taken back to safety.

Rescue had arrived and he hadn't been there to go with him.

Tremors overtook the minibots' frame. Yellow hands shakily closed the packet of credentials still in his grip. Then, he slowly made his way to the berth-side closet.

The pack was left stop the rest of the identification tags; it landed neatly atop his own.

* * *

Less than an hour passed before Shockwave returned. When he did, normally purple armor had darkened to a near pitch black; antlered sensory horns had extended enough to force the already towering mech to duck in order to get inside. Rage and fury were practically tangible as they emanated from the cyclops.

If there had been any doubt that Blurr was gone, it would have evaporated at that moment.

Cliffjumper huddled in the corner by the washrack door; the chain still connected to the collar lay in a coil by his side. The minibot looked warily at the frightening bot that held him captive; the last time Shockwave had held such an appearance, Cliffjumper had lost both of his arms and an optic. He hoped he wouldn't lose anything else in this new bout of anger.

If Shockwave even remembered he was there, he gave no sign. Instead, the Decepticon let out an enraged yell and rushed to -- of all places -- the shelf. One overly clawed servo whipped itself at the neatly stacked datapads; the novels and textbooks fell to the floor with the loud clatter of plastic and metal.

Cliffjumper cringed and pulled his knees up; he wrapped his arms around them and hugged himself close. If his self-proclaimed masters' rage would turn in his direction, the minibot thought, he could at least curl up in the attempt to protect himself.

A second infuriated yell evoked itself from Shockwaves' vocalizer; this time, the wall by the now empty shelf bore the brunt of his fury. New dents and craters in the metal were created as taloned fists slammed themselves against the painted sheets over and over again.

Several very long cycles later, the fists stopped; then, it was quiet for a moment. Only the sounds of the Decepticons' ragged intakes could be heard, breath harsh in fury and exertion.

After a troubling few seconds, a large, slitted optic glared at the prisoner in the corner.

At once, Cliffjumper clenched his optics shut and braced for pain; knees were held close as his entire frame stiffened.

However, nothing happened. Nothing happened for a very long time, in fact.

Slowly, Cliffjumper cracked open a frightened optic to find out why he wasn't being pummeled.

Shockwave stared back; this time, he was bare inches away. The cyclops crouched within an arms' length of the minibots' grasp.

Confusion danced with terror; he simply didn't know why he wasn't being struck. Perhaps it was a sort of psychological warfare; did Shockwave believe he could terrorize him in to submission with shows of force?

Why wasn't he doing anything?

A sudden surge of anger swelled in the minibots' spark; unwilling to allow the emotional browbeating, Cliffjumper said the first thing that came to his processor.

"You're not going to break me."

An antlered helm tilted itself to the side ever so slightly; only now did Cliffjumper notice that the black had paled again to a lesser hue of purple. The rage, it seemed, was evaporating.

"I don't need to." Somehow, there was the impression that the Decepticon was pleased.

With that, a servo adorned with more claws than usual grasped hold of a sloped red shoulder-guard; the other finally unlocked the collar from an abused throat. Then, Shockwave stood and half dragged his captive with him.

Cloven pedes stepped towards the berth.

Cliffjumper moaned in misery.

* * *

The morning seemed to be very different without Blurr there.

There was no attempts at comfort. No gentle words or distractions from the present. No gentle hand on his shoulder or arm.

Cliffjumper hadn't realized how important these things had been, before. Perhaps he had taken his friend for granted in the belief that they wouldn't be separated.

He knew better, now.

He sincerely hoped Blurr truly had escaped; he prayed Shockwave hadn't been angry because the speedster had been caught and killed.

There were no complaints or questions aimed at his tormentor; the former secretary knew better than to irk Shockwave so soon after an antagonized evening. The morning ritual in the washracks was quiet and subdued on the Autobots' end; all he could bring himself to do was glare with what was left of his damaged pride.

The insanity that the Decepticon flagship had been in the night before was now gone; at least, the mess hall appeared to be no more heated than usual. The usual scuffles and minor fist-fights broke out in small groups, but everything else was otherwise normal.

It wasn't until the group collectively known as Team Charr strode in that Cliffjumper noticed something wasn't right; Trackback wasn't with them.

Something deep in his spark clenched; was it possible that both of his only friends were gone?

The group of Decepticons didn't appear happy; scowls and disgruntled frowns marred their faceplates as they gathered their cubes and sat at their usual table.

"..Can't believe this.." Spittor croaked as he slouched in a particularly large chair. "Everybody else's slaves weren't even touched or nothing, and _ours_ gets away!"

Suddenly, Cliffjumper felt very cold.

"I'm with you there, Spitt." Oil Slick growled. "_Now _who are we going to frag? I need to get something every few days or I'll go insane!"

"More then you already are?" Cyclonus quipped; he received a glare for the comment. With the roll of his optics, the purple mech smirked. "Why not go to the breeding sector? They're always open."

Oil Slick let out a seemingly embarrassed huff. "..They won't let me in there, anymore. Not since I made that one glitch miscarry."

His teammates stared at him with identical incredulity.

"..How?!" Cyclonus sputtered. "You're not even allowed to --"

"I didn't see the sign, okay?! I thought the glitch was lying!" Oil Slick rubbed the glass above his faceplate.

"But their sparks --" Blackout began.

"Who looks at the sparks?! I want to frag 'em, not look at 'em!" The chemicalist snarled.

"Bah!" Strika snorted as she swirled the energon in her own cube. "You don't need any weak-willed Autobot femme or slave!" She stared at her helmeted team mate with an expression Cliffjumper couldn't hope to identify. "You need a good, strong Decepticon femme! One who knows how to make her mech happy!"

For several seconds, silence reigned over the group. Then, Oil Slick said the only thing that was likely able to form on the various mechs' processors.

"..What?"

"I know several good Decepticon femmes. Strong, proud warriors!" Strika straightened in what appeared to be pride.

"..Joy." Oil Slick grumbled. "Matchmaking."

From that point, Cliffjumper ignored the rest of the conversation. Instead, the minibot focused on what he had learned; both Trackback and Blurr were now gone. Likely rescued in the same mission the Elite Guard had sent out. Both of his only friends -- the only bots he even had a chance to talk to -- were gone and safe.

Part of him was happy for his friends; the rest of him was incredibly jealous and depressed.

He hoped he could one day join them.

* * *

_Another nightmare about to come true_

_Will manifest tomorrow_

_Another love that I've taken from you_

_Lost in time on the edge of suffering_

_Another taste of the evil I breed_

_Will level you completely_

_Bring to life everything that you fear_

_Live in the dark_

_And the world is threatening_

_Return to me, return to me, turn to me_

_Leave me no one_

_Turn to me, return to me turn to me_

_Cast aside_

_Living just isn't hard enough_

_Burn me alive inside_

_Living my life's not hard enough_

_They take everything from you_

-- 'Prayer', Disturbed


	30. Chapter 30

Author notes: ..I wrote this at work again. If only because I have a LOT of things to do this weekend. XD I wanted to get this done before my work piled up. Aaaargh.

I'm trying something a liiittle different for the second part of this chapter. My brain simply showed it that way, as a voice-over. I don't argue with my brain; it tends to be right. So.. If I fail, I am sorry.

Also, minor personal shout-out in this chapter. If any of you are World of Warcraft players on the Moon Guard server -- it's an RP server --, you may be able to spot the shout-out. *cackle*

I have to admit, this song choice is a bit of a stretch. I'm running out of songs with my 'one artist per fanfic' rule. Argh.

VOTE ON MY POLL. RAAWWRR.

RESPOND TIME. WHEE.

Tugera: Shockwave is secretly a ninja. I have no other explanation for his awesomeness. And that turbofox was THIS CLOSE to following Cliff and becoming a pet.

Shizuka85: Murdering your spark slave makes going spark-to-spark with them very difficult. XD

P.A.W.07: Finish 'Promise Not To Tell' damnit! XD I've written THIRTY CHAPTERS AND ended Streamline! ... Especially since you left the last chapter off with such delicious evilness. *cackle*

Not So Dark: See the second half of Tugera's response above. Also, this chapter will possibly be worse. ._.

* * *

_I sense there's something in the wind_

_That feels like tragedy's at hand_

_And though I'd like to stand by him_

_Can't shake this feeling that I have_

_The worst is just around the bend.._

-- 'Sally's Song', The Nightmare Before Christmas

**Souvenir: Chapter Thirty**

* * *

Blurr awoke with a jolt.

At first, nothing but panic clutched itself on to a quickened processor as it was lost in the haze of tapering nightmares. Wide blue optics gazed at an unfamiliar ceiling; the fear slowly ebbed in to a deeply unsettled confusion. The ceiling was unfamiliar. Shockwaves' room had gray tiles; the white sheets of metal were wholly different.

Memory was slow to return; it only did so with the realization that he was laying on a berth but had no heavy body pinning him to it. There were no claws, no deep purple paint that always struck fear in to the core of his being, no single bulb of an optic leering down with visible lust and wanting.

Blurr couldn't recall when, exactly, he had fallen in to recharge; the last thing he recalled had been a femme adorned with the strangest helm style he had ever seen asking about possible injuries. Before that, he remembered the four brave bots and the horribly terrifying escape.

He wasn't on the Decepticon flagship. He knew that much, now.

Slowly, Blurr sat up on the berth and gazed around the room. There were white walls, medical equipment haphazardly strewn around, and a sweet-smelling perfume that barely covered the stench of antiseptic. It was not only tolerable, but actually rather comfortable. It took a few seconds longer for the usually quick mech to notice the needle in his arm and the IV drip it was connected to.

It must have been a hospital. Possibly a lower-class repair shop, but it was certainly a far cry from his earlier prison.

Not quite certain about removing the energon drip without qualifying personnel overseeing such a task, Blurr swung himself off of the berth and took the IV stand in one shaking hand. He was pleased to find that the metal stand came equipped with wheels; it certainly made his intentions easier.

His legs felt light; a glance downward revealed the complete and utter lack of metal chains. The chain-link strip had been part of his frame for what felt like forever; the seemingly sudden lack of them sent a giddy trill along his circuits.

It felt entirely too good to take full steps; no more half paced hobbles or the unsettling worry about tripping over his own pedes; perhaps he may even be able to run again. The very thought of feeling wind along his body sent a delightful shudder coursing through his systems.

Joy flooded all else. If it hadn't been for his grip on the IV stand, he likely would have tried to run out of the room just to feel himself moving again. Instead, he took on a somewhat slower, normal pace; each long stride was relished as he moved out the unlocked door and in to the hall.

The first thing Blurr could see in the hall was an Autobot symbol tampographed on to a support beam.

Hysterical laughter began to bubble out of his vocalizer. Before the speedster could allow the incredible glee to overtake him, he noticed someone else standing not too far away. The other bot stood by one of the many large windows along the corridor; the nearby mech did nothing but stare out at the stars and in to space with wide, wonder-filled optics and a broad grin.

Blurr recognized the other mech. "Trackback?" He began to make his way towards his fellow rescuee; the wheels on the stand squeaked as it was dragged along.

"Is this.. Real?" Trackback continued to grin as he asked, tone cracking with emotion. He sounded ready to either laugh or cry; Blurr worried he might attempt to do both at the same time.

"..Yes. Yes, I believe it is." Blurr looked to his friend warily, but couldn't help his own smile from forming. "Yes, I'm fairly certain that this is all real and that neither of us are in recharge or fantasizing." Or have fallen in to insanity, he hoped.

"It's been so long.." A small shudder ran along Trackback's frame; one shaking hand rested itself against the glass. "The stars are so much brighter than I remember. I can't remember the last time I was able to look at them."

Blurr winced at that. Shockwaves' room had held a window; it appeared Trackback hadn't even had that small luxury. "It's good to be out of that Primus-cursed place, isn't it?"

"I never thought I would be." Blue optics continued to stare outside. "I really thought I'd offline in there, but I'd dream a lot. Recharge was the only good thing I had, in there, because I'd get to go away for a little while. And, now, this almost doesn't feel real at all, but none of my fantasies or feedback were ever this good."

The smile on Blurrs' faceplate began to waver; he wasn't quite certain how to respond.

"How did they even find us?" The grin on a pale blue faceplate only grew wider. "Whoever it was that found us, I want to meet them. I have to thank the bots that saved us."

The smile vanished completely; Blurr gazed out an adjacent window as a deeply disturbed feeling began to trickle through his meta. "..Cliffjumper."

Trackback turned to stare. "What?"

"Cliffjumper got us out. He hacked in to Shockwaves' personal communications system." Blurr began to tremble. "We couldn't tell you because the fragger was always sitting just a few mechanometers away and we knew he'd overhear, but we wanted to tell you. Cliffjumper's been sending out emails to the Elite Guard and told them everything and that's how they found us. The only reason either of us are not in a Decepticon's berth right now is because Cliffjumper risked his aft to call for help."

A long moment of silence passed. Just as a stunned Trackback opened his mouth to say something, sped-up speech interrupted him.

"I can't believe I abandoned him..!" The cry pitched; Blurr covered his faceplate with both hands as his entire frame quaked. "I could have stayed in there and stayed with him and the Elite Guard could have come back another time, because if we hadn't been gone, the Decepticons probably would have never even known they were in there in the first place to rescue us at all! But I left, and I left _Cliffjumper_ alone to deal with the fragger when I told him we would escape together! Why did I leave him there?"

"..If you didn't go.." The words came in a near whisper from a now subdued Trackback. "If you hadn't gone with them.. I would still be there. You saved me, too, Blurr."

Blurr choked on his own vocalizer; he couldn't form a response to the attempt at comfort, choked by depression and self-incrimination.

"He's right, soldier." The voice from down the hall caused both to turn; white and red paint adorned the slender femme that approached. A medic, by the numerous marks; Blurr couldn't recall her designation, but he did recall that she had been one of the four that had rescued them.

"You didn't leave Cliffjumper behind." The femme frowned with visible concern as she made her way closer. Perhaps because she was a femme or perhaps it was her clear designation as a medic, but neither of the rescued Autobots flinched or moved away. "The truth is, Agent Blurr, if you had not been willing to go with us.. We had orders to knock you offline and take you with us while you were unconscious. Either way, it was not your fault. You did not abandon anyone."

Silence passed; Blurr still couldn't bring himself to speak. He simply trembled as he stared out the window; the very cored of his spark, he felt, refused to believe the medics' words.

"Thank you." That, however, came from Trackback; Blurr looked up sharply to see the most grateful expression he had ever seen cross his friends' faceplate. Trackback stared at the medic. "You're part of the group that came for us, aren't you? Thank you, thank you..!" With that, quick steps walked to the femme; scarred arms wrapped themselves around the medic in a gentle, yet eager hug.

The medic simply stood there, visibly stunned. She didn't appear to know how to react to the embrace. "..Uh.. You.. Really shouldn't be out of bed. I just repaired that leg of yours, but it still needs time to heal properly. It was pretty badly damaged." She then boggled and grabbed hold of one of the arms around her shoulder. "And you tore out your energon drip! What were you thinking?!"

Confusion crossed Trackback's faceplate; he neither flinched nor pulled away from the femme. "I've had worse."

"..Your leg was on backwards." Her response was deadpan.

"Once, Spittor got fragged off and tore off both my servos and pedes at the ankles and wrists. Oilslick put them back on the wrong limbs, I think for kicks. They left me like that for a month. Hurt like slag, too." Trackback shrugged. "A torn-up leg isn't so bad in comparison."

Amazingly, the ordinarily horrific tale was told with a calm, almost cheerful disposition. Both Blurr and the femme gaped in disbelief.

"..Okay, I'm going to give you a full internal scan, now." The medic grabbed hold of Trackback's wrist to pull him along. "I'm making sure _nothing_ is left screwed-up in your internal circuitry."

"But..!" Trackback sputtered.

"No arguing." The medic huffed. "Just.. Come on."

As they began to move off down the hall, Blurr stared after them. It took several steps away for the speedster to force himself out of the disturbed shock caused by both the thoughts of walking on pain-filled servos instead of pedes and his continued self doubt. "Wait! Uh.." What had her name been?

"Red Alert." The femme clarified the unspoken question as she glanced back.

"Yes, Red Alert, we're going to Cybertron, I assume? We're going to go to Elite Guard headquarters? I suspected I'm going to have to report to whoever is in charge or possibly whomever is second or third in command about everything that happened these past few months?"

"Sentinel Magnus has already appointed both of you to speak with him as soon as we land." Red Alert nodded.

".._Sentinel_ is Magnus, now?" Blurr boggled. "The same Sentinel that's Sentinel Prime? The same Sentinel that got drunk on high-grade at last stellar cycles' new-century party and danced on a table while insulting everyone in the room with crude remarks?"

"..Shockingly, yes." The medic shrugged, one hand still on Trackback's wrist. "But it seems he did have a real turn-around when he became Magnus. He stopped at nothing to make sure we went in for you." She paused a moment, as if stopping herself from saying something. "..Regardless, you're speaking with him when we land."

* * *

_"It's horrible, you know, in there. The nanosecond we figured out what was going on and why Shockwave kidnapped us, we knew that things were just going to go downhill very fast. All the horror stories the media had shown.. Magnus, councilbots, none of it compared to what actually went on and what we really felt."_

The room was empty. Somehow, that was the only thing Cliffjumper could think as Shockwave unlatched the collar and left him alone. Normally, those few hours of solitude had been considered a precious gift; it had given them time to talk and to rest without fear of being watched.

Now, the apartment that had become his prison was simply.. Empty. Blurr was gone. There was no chatter to be had; there was no comfort to be sought.

Slowly, the imprisoned minibot made his way for the lounge.

_ "Cliffjumper had given everything he had every single solar cycle, in there. Every time.. Every time, no matter which one of us the slagger finally chose for the night.. Every time, Cliffjumper would fight. __**He **__tried to protect __**me **__and he risked his own life every single time, even though we both knew it never changed anything. Shockwave always won, in the end."_

Was this how it was going to be, now? Alone, nothing but himself, left to the nonexistent mercies and unkind ministrations of a cruel Decepticon?

Cliffjumper curled up on the chaise and tried very hard not to think. The silence and lack of distraction only served to compound his processor with more unwanted contemplation.

He didn't want to think; he didn't want to remember where he was and what would happen in a few hours.

He almost didn't want to be.

_ "But Cliffjumper.. He was still only a secretary. He never had military training. He never even had a psychology test, I bet, on anything remotely disturbing. There was absolutely no way he could have prepared himself for what was happening.. But he still coped so much better than I did. I relied on him in there, not the other way around. He's a strong bot. Stronger than I am, I think." _

He wanted to scream. Instead, bright yellow hands grasped at the top of his own helm as his intakes took deep, shuddering breaths; he tried to pull himself away from depression and dark thoughts.

It wasn't working very well.

_ "I could see it, sometimes, when he thought I wasn't looking, but I knew he was breaking apart. Anybot would, I bet. ..I know I lost myself more than a few times, in there."_

Cliffjumper simply knew that no one was going to come for him. He knew that Blurr, if no one else, would advocate for him; that was all he had.

If the Decepticons hadn't already figured out that there had been a rescue, they would soon. Security would be increased, most likely; it would be more difficult for the Elite Guard to get inside. That is, even if they decided he was worth rescuing.

Blurr, at least, had been worth the risk; he had been an Elite Guard with a unique skill.

He had only been a secretary.

_ "It never stopped hurting. Every single time, the pain would be so strong that I just thought I was going to offline. It was.. The most horrible thing I had ever experienced. Time and time again. And you know what? I wasn't that far off. Every time, every single time that.. That monster crashed his spark against mine, it was just so horrible that a part of me really did die in there. The longer I stayed in there, the more of myself I lost to that Pit-hole." _

He wanted to cry.

When Blurr had been there, talking about various worlds he had been to while undercover or his childhood and creators, there had been times when he could almost forget where he was. There were times that had almost been normal.

He wouldn't even be able to send the emails, any more. With Shockwaves' attention solely on him, he would never have the chance to log back in to the communications console.

Carerra's story haunted him; Hubcap had been alone for 'a very long time' before he had unpolluted company. It could be _stellar cycles _before Shockwave had his optic on another bot and he had a chance to send a message out.

Would he even be sane in a few stellar cycles? Would he even be sane in a few months?

_ "We could see it in the other sla -- the other Autobots in there, too. A lot of them simply.. Lost their minds."_

He wanted to go home.

Cliffjumper hadn't even realized he had curled up on himself; by the time he took stock of what his own body was doing, he was already rocking back and forth and hugging his knees.

Shockwaves' quarters was not his home. His real home was on Cybertron; the apartment he had once simply 'accepted' because he hadn't been able to afford a larger place. He dreamed about it, now, and all the familiar things within that he longed for.

He wanted to go home.

_ "But there was always that shred of hope. Cliffjumper tried so hard to convince me, sometimes, that you were going to come for us. It was the only thing that kept us going."_

"I want to go home." The wish escaped his vocalizer without conscious thought. "I want to go home.. I want to go home.."

Never before had he felt so hopeless.

"_Cliffjumper never gave up hope."_

* * *

_What will become of my dear friend?_

_Where will his actions lead us, then?_

_Although I'd like to join the crowd_

_In their enthusiastic cloud_

_Try as I may, it does not last.._

_And will we ever end up together?_

-- 'Sally's Song', The Nightmare Before Christmas


	31. Chapter 31

Author notes: ..This is a plot chapter. And possibly a Trackback-is-being-adorable chapter. I seriously have no idea why so many of you apparently like him; he's practically an OC. He's an OC that's doing stuff for the plot! *flail* I'm so confuuuused.

Cliffjumper returns next chapter.

..I seriously could not find a song fitting for this chapter. Ah well.

RESPOND TIME. YAY

P.A.W.07: ...This is true. BUT. I, uh.. Update frequently? ... I envy your work.

Little Mean Pepper Shaker: ..Cheese and crackers? XD I also count three. Also, hey, wait 'til next chapter! *cackle*

Animaluvr3: ..You like Carerra? ... Really? ... Why? What did I do right? o_o

Smoking Caramels: ..I don't knoooow. It wasn't supposed to be this long in the first place! *flail* I don't know what I'm doing anymore.

* * *

_Heart, don't fail me now_

_Courage, don't desert me_

_Don't turn back now that we're here_

_People always say:_

_Life is full of choices_

_No one ever mentions fear.._

_Somewhere down this road_

_I know someone's waiting_

_Years of dreams just can't be wrong_

_Arms will open wide_

_I'll be safe and wanted_

_Finally home, where I belong_

-- 'Journey to the Past', Anastasia

**Souvenir: Chapter Thirty-One**

* * *

The Magnus had not been happy.

The anger had been something of a shock to Blurr. Although he had never known Sentinel personally, what he had known of him and the supposed 'change' he had undergone after becoming the Autobot leader had set him up for certain expectations. He had assumed Sentinel Magnus would have been pleased at the fairly successful rescue.

Instead, there had been an explosive outburst of fury. Up until that point, the speedster had been under the assumption that the Elite Guard had braved the Decepticon stronghold mostly -- if not entirely -- for his sake alone. The truth of the matter sent him reeling in a confusing mix of relief, hope and discomfort; the Magnus seemed to have a personal investment in Cliffjumpers' safety.

Why Sentinel cared so deeply, no one said; either no one knew or no one wanted to know. In conversations held within captivity, Cliffjumper had mentioned Sentinel several times in passing; an old drinking buddy, a friend before their various careers took them in different directions. Certainly nothing more, or the former secretary would have said so.

The angry tantrum that the Magnus had thrown after finding that the red minibot was still within enemy hands had been spectacular; Blurr had never seen so many bots look so ashamed at the same time. He couldn't help but share in the guilt; he had, after all, abandoned Cliffjumper to Shockwaves' torture.

To his credit, Rodimus Prime had tried to explain exactly what had happened and what had gone wrong. However, the Prime only knew so much; it had taken Blurr to fill in the blanks.

Describing what had gone on in Shockwaves' custody had been a trial within itself. The entire council chambers had gone terribly silent as the speedster forced himself to say every word slow enough to be understood. The horror crossing so many faceplates as the tale went on had made the experience one of the most difficult things Blurr had ever done; by the end of it, he had felt ready to purge. Especially after having to explain how his kidnapper chose to punish his still captive friend.

By the time he had been allowed to leave the silent antechamber, tremors had overtaken a blue and white frame. Before he had a chance to allow the stress to cause any further problems, bright yellow arms wrapped the speedster in a tight hug.

"Are you okay? What happened in there? You're shaking!" The worry was all but tangible in Trackbacks voice.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I swear." Blurr offered a small smile; the taller yellow and blue mech had been nearly inseparable since their escape. "It was just a little more difficult than I thought it would be to relay everything that had happened these past few months, is all."

Trackback nodded slowly; he appeared pensive.

"..What's wrong?" Blurr frowned at his friends' expression. "I mean, besides the obvious slag that's been going on and where we came from and why we're here in the first --"

"They found my files." The words came quietly as a deep frown crossed a pale blue faceplate.

"What?" Blur stared at his friend in slight confusion. "That's.. Wonderful, isn't it? I would think it would be a good thing for the Elite Guard to find your files and all your information, especially since even you said you don't remember what happened, so now maybe they can help you and possibly even find your family!"

Silence; Trackback simply gazed at his pedes.

"..What did they find?" Blurr gulped.

"I couldn't remember anything that they were talking about." Trackback frowned. "They don't have a name on file. They said I was on my way to boot camp when I.. Disappeared."

Blurr's optics widened in surprise. Trackback had never been given a proper designation; if he had been young enough to be captured on his way to boot camp, he never would have had a chance to earn one.

Was it possible that Trackback was his age? Younger, perhaps?

"They said my creators were on the same ship, too." A gulp. "I.. I don't remember them at all. If they're even still online or what.."

"I.. I'm sorry." Blurr frowned with deep worry.

"I don't really know how to feel about it." Trackback didn't appear worried; simply confused. "My memory files are all messed up anyway, and I guess I have no family to take me in. I figured I'd have to start all over, anyway. Anything's better than being back there, really, so I just.. I don't know."

The words rang harshly against Blurrs' processor; he hadn't considered what they would do after the Elite Guard had helped them and the stories had been told. The fact that they had been free at all had clouded every other concern with overwhelming joy; it simply hadn't been important to think about at the time. Although the Elite Guard would likely offer temporary living quarters, that was all it would be; temporary.

"I wonder where Cliffjumper lived." Trackback mused as he looked out a window.

"What?" Blurr perked up.

Blue optics continued to stare out at the glittering buildings and moving vehicles. "You said he worked in an office, right? I wonder where he lived.."

* * *

It had taken surprisingly little effort to find Cliffjumpers' address. The Elite Guard, in fact, had been more than willing to give their recently reacquired agent the information; no questions asked, no suspicions. Perhaps it was for the best.

Actually leaving headquarters, however, proved to be a problem; leaving the perceived safety of the Elite Guard had apparently been too much for Trackback. It had taken over an hour of persuasion and a small army of personal guards to convince the terrified mech to step out of the front door.

Even then, it had taken Rodimus Prime's personal attendance to sway the former prisoner outside. Trackback had perhaps recognized the Prime from the rescue and had made the subconscious connection of protection; Blurr couldn't think of any other reason why his friend put so much trust in him.

They had taken less than ten steps outside. Then, Blurr looked around what had once been an ordinary place.

It didn't seem quite so ordinary, anymore; everything shone as if brand new. Even the simplest things -- taking full steps on to familiar streets and hearing calm chatter from civilians instead of screams -- became filled with beauty and amazement.

Halfway to their destination, Blurr realized this would become a problem. "I need to run."

"What?" Rodimus blinked.

"I'll meet you there. I just need to get moving or I'm going to explode or something and I just haven't had a good run in so long and it's such a nice day and I'm going to go now, bye!"

With that, he ran off.

* * *

"..Well." One of the escorts sputtered after the blue mech ran off.

Rodimus rubbed his faceplate; he had thought the intention of having personal guards was to prevent possible disasters. What had been the point of running off?

"You heard the mech." A sigh. "We'll meet him at the building, I guess. Let's get going."

The group of Elite Guards were half a block away before one of the other officers had to get his attention.

"Uh, Prime, sir? The other one's, uhm.."

"Not moving." A femme officer clarified. "He's just.. Standing there."

"What?" Rodimus blinked and looked back.

Trackback was standing on the sidewalk and simply staring out in to the distance; with his back turned to the officers, the Prime couldn't tell what the recently rescued Autobot could possibly have been thinking.

"Trackback..?" Rodimus frowned, concerned; he had been informed of just how long the young mech had been held captive. It had disturbed him, in fact; according to the youth's own information, he had been held by Team Charr.

Not too long ago, he had been faceplate-to-faceplate with the same group and had almost been captured. He shuddered to think what could happened to his team -- to himself -- if backup had not arrived when it had. It hadn't helped his disturbed thought process to know that Team Charr had held a slave with his very same protoform mold.

"Trackback?" The Prime called again as he walked up to the bots' side; a glance at a pale blue faceplate revealed a wide grin and wonder-filled optics.

"It's.. So beautiful." Wide optics continued to stare.

Rodimus looked in the same direction to see what could have possibly caught his attention. He then glanced back; the worry only climbed. "..That's a billboard, Trackback."

No response; only the sparkling-esque grin.

".. Okay, then. Yeah, okay, it's very, uh, pretty. Let's.. Let's go meet Blurr, okay?" A nervous chuckle escaped Rodimus's vocaliser; gently, he grasped hold of still scarred and healing arms to pull the mech along.

"It's moving!" Trackback looked ready to burst in to giggles.

"Of course it's moving, it's a digital advertisement." Rodimus sighed. "Whatever product is on that thing, I swear I will get it for you. Just, come on."

Before they had arrived at the apartment complex, Trackback had stopped four more times.

* * *

Blurr had almost expected civilians to stare. After all, what was now known of Decepticon activity was planet-shattering; it was the sort of knowledge that sent panic throughout normal processors. He supposed that was why no one was told; the media had been hushed, either by ignorance or threats.

No one knew he had been gone for so long. No one knew where he had been.

He found he was really rather happy with this arrangement; the last thing he wanted was more whispers behind his back or more pity-filled stares.

Once they were at the building, all it had taken was the flash of an Elite Guard badge to get the key card. The building manager hadn't dared to ask why a phalanx of Elite Guardsmen had to get inside a particular apartment; in fact, the mech had been more than eager to claim no knowledge of any illegal activity. The argument against nonexistent accusations had been rather vehement.

Blurr made a mental note to avoid the building manager whenever possible.

From there, they had taken an elevator. Although the small cage was nothing akin to the gleaming, opulent thing in the Decepticon flagship, Blurr still shuddered at the similarity. A shaking hand massaged his throat and nearly expected to feel a collar.

He couldn't get out of that elevator fast enough.

The walk along the connecting halls were different, as well; it was all but abandoned save for a mail drone slipping small parchments through swiftly sliding doors. It was all rather plain save for personal things by the doorways themselves.

Somehow, the dainty door mats and taped posters made the corridor delightful; the friendly air was leaps and bounds away from the oppressive atmosphere of the flagship.

The door to Cliffjumpers' apartment was midway through; the only decoration was an ornamental doorbell.

"We'll leave you here, I guess." Rodimus frowned faintly. "You have the number for headquarters, right?"

Blurr nodded. "It's all right, Rodimus Prime. Thank you for the escort."

The Prime nodded once, but still appeared bothered. It wasn't until the two former prisoners were inside the door that the small army left.

The first thing that came to Blurrs' mind as he stepped inside was that Cliffjumpers' apartment was larger than Shockwaves'. The speedster wasn't certain if there truly was more square footage or if it was due to the much smaller, minibot-sized furniture, but there was certainly much more room.

"Wow.." Trackback smiled broadly as he made his way around. Wide optics explored everything; more than a few objects were picked up, handled, and then set back exactly where it had been. For the moment, he appeared to forget that anyone else was there as he wandered.

As his friend explored, Blurr looked around. There wasn't a speck of dust to be found; dirt and grime were slow to form on Cybertron. It wasn't a world like Earth had been; there were no organics and no weather except for the occasional acid rain.

It was almost as if someone still lived there.

A sudden flash of red light caught his attention; Blurr turned to stare as panic formed in response to the flicker of color. Intakes heaved before he spotted what caused it; the small, floor-level mailbox sat by the wall.

Ordinarily, email was the way to communicate. However, bills, important notices and other messages came through the old fashioned way; physical, heavily wrapped datapads with the information. The pile sitting in the small bin flickered with red and yellow lights.

Terror ebbed away as Blurr made his way to the pile of what appeared to be bills. He picked the first one up and turned it on.

An eviction warning for unpaid rent. Blurr boggled in incredulity.

Slowly, a plan began to form. It would be horribly unfair for Cliffjumper to be rescued -- it was not a matter of if, but when; Blurr refused to believe otherwise --, only to find his apartment and everything in it was gone because of something so trivial. It wasn't as if he could pay rent while being held against his will.

With a small smile, Blurr recalled that he had a small fortune saved up. His undercover work had held him on various worlds for such extensive stretches of time that he had never bothered to obtain an apartment of his own; his paycheck had gone directly to a savings account and barely touched.

Decision made, swift pedes ran out of the apartment.

Within five cycles, he had his personal bank information from the bank on the other side of the city.

Within ten cycles, he was back in the apartment. He returned to find Trackback recharging on a couch much too small for his frame; the scarred mech smiled even while asleep.

Within fifteen cycles, he was contacting every single company on every single bill left in Cliffjumpers' inbox.

Within an hour, every single bill had been paid off in full.

* * *

_One step at a time_

_One hope, then another_

_Who knows where this road may go?_

_Back to who I was_

_On to find my future_

_Things my heart still needs to know_

_Yes, let this be a sign_

_Let this road be mine_

_To bring me home_

_At last!_

-- 'Journey to the Past', Anastasia


	32. Chapter 32

Author notes: Happy Marshmallow Peep Day, people. I'm going to gorge on chocolate.

Interestingly, this entire chapter did not happen according to the plot in my head. This all came out as I was writing this. My brain is weird.

BBPuyo of Deviantart still continues to draw illustrations in her scrap section. Go look! Yay!

RESPOND TIME. YAY.

Ladyredvelvet: My brain says 'no' on the Sentinel-Cliffjumper matter. It refuses to say further until more of this is written. *shrug*

Jzeylyn: According to Cliffjumpers' toy bio and Allspark Almanac information, Cliffjumper wanted to be an Elite Guard spy. But was not able to because he has anger issues and a temper. Combine that with the fact that his name is Cliffjumper and he had to earn it SOMEhow, I imagine he became a secretary for the money. XD

* * *

_From the air, I see your loneliness_

_You carry on despite your fear_

_Inside a box you keep your sanity_

_And it will never seem clear to me_

_A simple spell cast is broken through_

_The force of life decides to bend_

_You lay below the sacred stormy skies_

_And you will write the end for me_

_Over the hills, the light, it flows_

_It shows the angels laughing_

_Where is the love that we're supposed to find?_

_Lost in a maze of games so very dark and overwhelming_

_Lost in these thoughts that seem to rule my mind_

-- 'Walking and Thinking', RA

**Souvenir: Chapter Thirty-Two**

* * *

The days passed by in a slow, numb haze. The complete lack of friendly interaction and subsequent loneliness likely would have compounded even the most stable of processors.

At least, that was what Cliffjumper told himself as an excuse against self-incrimination; for the second quiet solar cycle in a row, silence reigned as he sat tethered in the hall outside the daily meeting. A strange lethargy had taken over his systems ever since Blurr had been rescued; he no longer had the will or desire to fight for more than a few minutes at a time.

There simply had not been much of a point. Outside the useless, miniscule struggles whenever claws dragged him towards the hated berth, he made no other attempts at fight or flight. He simply did not know what else to do; nothing had worked before and he doubted he would have sudden success.

Carerra had been right; he had begun to grow numb to it all. Acceptance, perhaps, of such a terrible fate; a distant part of his own processor was surprised it had taken three months to reach this point.

At the moment, mismatched optics gazed at the floor between hugged knees. Depression clawed at the very core of his spark, it seemed; he made the attempt to not think of anything at all lest the cold emptiness grow worse.

Something flickered from the corner of his vision. For the moment, he ignored it; it was likely the fluorescent lights reflecting off of a passing Decepticon.

After several long minutes, the flickering did not stop. If anything, the flashing lights became more insistent. Slowly, Cliffjumper looked up to see what was causing it.

The slave across the hall -- the beaten and abused Elite Guard that had been captive for who knows how long -- was staring at him. The Autobot brand on his chest plate flashed with urgency.

It took a moment to recognize the visual code; by the time he did, he was reading it halfway through a word.

A deep frown crossed the red minibots' faceplate. _Sorry; repeat?_ Words were kept short and sentences clipped; if any passing Decepticon saw them, they would not have to start all over to be understood.

The red and white mech stared with wide optics; Cliffjumper had never seen the bot with so much emotion, before. In the months he had seen him, he had been practically limp and nearly unresponsive. _Other; escaped?_

Multicolored optics blinked in surprise. Somehow, it had never occurred to him that others would have heard the announcement and blaring alarms and connected it to Blurr. _Rescued._

The mech across the hall sat up straighter; his jaw hung and what looked like hope crossed a scarred and bruised faceplate. _How?_

Cliffjumper made a quick glance up and down the hall; when no Decepticon was spotted, he answered in full. _The Elite Guard know we're here. They got him out._

At once, tremors overtook the red and white slave. Visible joy crossed his frame as red servos covered his mouth to prevent sudden laughter from growing louder. The happiness practically rolled off of the captive Autobot in tangible waves.

Cliffjumper simply stared; he did not share in the delight. The Elite Guard may have rescued Blurr, but that did not mean that they would return. In fact, it likely meant they wouldn't be able to again; he didn't understand why the other captive didn't realize that.

Still, he decided not to disrupt the good cheer; they didn't have much of it in this place and he didn't want to rob him of it.

* * *

The following solar cycle was strange from the start.

Cliffjumper had realized something was amiss the moment they had stepped in to the hall. The ordinarily quiet journey to the elevator -- noise typically erupted only when they were surrounded by the lower class rank and file -- was now filled with a faint babble. It sounded as if something very loud was happening nearby, but not close enough to make sense of it.

The minibot glanced up at Shockwave to gauge his reaction; despite the lack of facial features, the cyclops did appear surprised.

Still, they walked towards the elevator. The Decepticon grasping his leash warily moved on, glancing around the empty corridor.

It wasn't until the elevator opened out and on to the lower level did the source of the noise become apparent.

Mutilated Autobot brands were flashing left and right as collars and leashes were flung and used as makeshift weapons; dozens upon dozens of both Decepticons and slaves alike moved and struck and fought. It was a riot in every sense of the word.

Cliffjumper gaped, momentarily too stunned to even consider joining the chaotic fray. Before he could even formulate proper thought on the matter, claws grasped his shoulder and wrapped the tail end of his leash around his frame; within seconds, his arms were pinned and locked to his side. Then, Shockwave locked what was left of the chain to a bar at the back of the elevator.

With that, the towering Decepticon ran out the sliding metal doors and in to the maw of chaos.

After a few seconds, the elevator doors slid shut.

For several long cycles, Cliffjumper could only stand there in open-mouthed shock. Slowly, he sat down on the gleaming gold-plated floor; his processor churned in the attempt to figure out what was going on.

Despite the closed in basin and the happy music wafting through, he could still hear the pandemonium occurring outside. He had never thought there could be such a brawl caused by the slaves; he wasn't aware they could even arrange one with the lack of free communication. He certainly had no inclination that such a thing was going to happen; neither did Shockwave, apparently.

The noise went on; the former secretary shifted in place as he waited for something to happen.

After nearly a quarter of an hour, the elevator let out a soft beep. Then, the lift began to move, calmly heading back up to the second floor. Someone must have pressed the button on the upper level; Cliffjumper gulped and hugged the corner as much as he could.

The elevator stopped; the door opened with a cheerful chime. The tall gray mech known to every Cybertronian took one step in only to stop in surprise at the sight of the chained minibot. A metal brow raised in obvious confusion.

Cliffjumper shrunk in to the corner; he had never been this close to Megatron, before.

A very long second passed. Then, the Decepticon lord stepped in to the basin proper and pressed the button, turning his back to the chained slave.

It appeared he was going to ignore him; Cliffjumper had never been so glad to be overlooked.

When the door opened again, the crowd was still in the throes of anarchy; Megatron stopped and stared. Then, he let out a deeply annoyed sigh; the cannon latched to one arm was cocked, raised and promptly fired.

Miraculously, it hit no one; a wall, however, erupted in to debris and sparking wires at the assault.

All at once, everything went quiet; Autobot and Decepticon alike stilled at the unmistakable sound.

"_What _is going on, here?" Megatron hissed.

"Oh, slag!" Someone yelled. "Run!"

Then, still collared and leashed slaves moved in all directions. Decepticons gave chase. Cliffjumper doubted any of them would escape or hide for long; he wondered how many would be offlined in the attempt.

As the hall thinned and bodies moved out of sight, the noise dulled to a much more manageable level. After several minutes, recognizable shapes could be made out.

"Appologies, my lord." Shockwave's clear voice rang through as cloven pedes stepped forward; a purple frame now sported several scuff marks and what appeared to be a lash on his lower leg. "It appears there was some.. Trouble that only escalated without the presence of superior officers."

"So it seems." Megatron growled. "I want the names and station of every Decepticon who couldn't control their property by twelve hundred hours."

"Of course, my lord." Shockwave bowed. "Strika and I have already begun to collaborate on the matter."

"Good." The Decepticon Lord gave a curt nod. Heavy gray steps then moved off without another word.

During all of this, Cliffjumper had little choice but to sit there and bear witness to the event. Now that it was over, he shifted uncomfortably in the restraints.

A single red optic stared turned in his direction. Then, with the shake of his head, the cyclops moved forward to untie the minibot.

* * *

The rest of the day went on as normal. Although, several bots that were usually seen -- Decepticon and Autobot alike -- were now missing; Cliffjumper attributed it to the earlier insanity.

He had absolutely no idea what had happened that morning. He dared not ask Shockwave for information; he liked to think he was more intelligent than to try. Instead, he spent every moment listening for any word or a snippet of conversation that might shed light on the issue.

It wasn't until the daily meeting did he get any new information. The red and white mech across the hall -- still much more lively than he had seen before their earlier conversation -- looked at him again.

Somehow, the first words that came to Cliffjumpers' processor were all that he could think to say. _What the frag was that?_ He tried to emphasize the last word despite the visual speech.

A small frown crossed a white faceplate. _Failure._

Despite further repeated questions; the red and white mech refused to clarify further. Instead, blue optics glared at the floor with growing anger.

As it usually did, the door to the meeting slid open to allow a Decepticon to enter; as it did so, the voice of the Decepticon Lord escaped.

"..Move our base of operations to Sector Vega and increase security protocols. The Autobots are not likely to find --" The door slid shut.

Cliffjumper had expected as much. Still, his spark sank hearing the words for himself; the flagship was moving.

He glanced towards the mech across the hall; the anger that had been visible was now fading.

Within seconds, the tired, lifeless expression that had previously dominated the red and white slave returned again.

* * *

_A door will close and I will be denied_

_A dagger thrust in to my chest_

_You claim yourself to the victory_

_Over the hills, the light, it flows_

_It shows the angels laughing_

_But where is the love that we're supposed to find?_

_Lost in a maze of games so very dark and overwhelming_

_Lost in these thoughts that seem to rule my mind_

_My mind_

-- 'Walking and Thinking', RA


	33. Chapter 33

Author notes: Okay, this? This is a filler chapter. Oh, yes, it is. My brain insisted there be something between the chaos of the last few chapters and the upcoming chaos. Remember that preview pic Puyo put up a little while ago? ..Yeeeah, that's coming up. *cackle*

Enjoy the filler!

Song is a stretch, again. Whee!

RESPOND TIME. YAY.

Blackmoondragon: Oddly, the reason this is all so convolutes is because the plot HASN'T changed from what my brain originally claimed. It was just missing a few parts here and there that required some odd filling in. But, so far, we're on track. I think.

Peacewish: Oh, you are going to LOVE the ending my brain came up with for this. *cackle*

* * *

_How come I must know_

_Where obsession needs to go?_

_How come I must know_

_The direction of relieving?_

_Deep in the night_

_Far off, the light_

_Missing my headache_

_How come I must know_

_Where the passion hides it's feelings?_

-- 'Obsession', See-Saw

**Souvenir: Chapter Thirty-three**

* * *

"What do you mean, you can't find the flagship?!"

The fury coating the voice of the temporary Magnus was nothing particularly unusual. Rage had become something that Sentinel had long been known for; it was what those working for and beneath him expected on a regular basis. Ordinarily, it was either simply tolerated or outright ignored.

However, this particular afternoon, those being yelled at cringed in a visible mix of shame and fear.

"The.. The Decepticons, sir.." A terrified officer sputtered, quaking and clinging to a datapad as if it were a shield. "They.. We believe they moved. Their cloaking technology is.. I mean, it's so far.. We can't.."

"Spit it out!" The Magnus raged, bringing his face within a mechanometer of the poor underling.

"The Decepticons know how to hide, sir." A much calmer coworker looked up from a nearby seat; steel blue optics looked to his superior. "The rescue party _had _noted, sir, that alarms had gone off. The Decepticons are now deep likely within hiding."

"Well, then _find them_, you scrap heaps!" The fury came as Sentinel aimed his furious gaze to the new speaker. "That's your job! _Do it!"_

"Sir.." The same calm employee frowned as if the anger did nothing to effect him; if either of them noticed the previously terrified mech running off, neither gave sign. "It could be stellar cycles before we find so much as a blip on our radar. Keep in mind, sir, these are the same bots that we didn't even know existed less than a century ago." A deep, suddenly nervous breath. "..Sir. Perhaps we shouldn't place so much effort in to an obviously impossible search."

"That's not something I'm willing to accept." The words came in a deep, dangerous snarl. "I'm not going to allow you slackers to sit on your skidplates and not do a slagging thing. There are bots still in there! We're going to scan and we're going to _keep_ scanning until we find the Decepticon ship, got it?! Now, get back to work, you grease stains!"

By the open doorway, a blue flash of light sped away unnoticed.

* * *

The flagship was gone.

Blurr had expected as much; when he had heard the alarms blare inside that terrible place, he had suspected that this would happen. Shockwave would have noticed he was gone, after all, and Shockwave was not stupid; he would have known his favored pet had been rescued. He would have known that there was no other possible way he could have escaped.

That didn't make it any less upsetting.

It took barely a few cycles to travel the few miles between the Elite Guard headquarters and Cliffjumpers' apartment. By the time he was inside and the door closed, tremors had overtaken the blue frame.

The flagship was gone. Cliffjumper was still with them. The odds of finding the ship again were nearly nothing.

Blurr collapsed on the small couch; a hand rubbed his faceplate as he growled in a mix of frustration and mourning.

He wanted to help with the impossible search, but he knew there was nothing he could do. The Magnus's insistence had it covered. Besides which, he was still on forced leave; the Elite Guard refused to allow him to work in any way possible. As it was, they barely allowed him to access their own headquarters, treating the speedster as if he were made of the thinnest glass and could crack at any moment.

He absolutely hated it. He was home, he was free; why couldn't they treat him as if he were normal? Didn't they realize he was still one of their own, still a trained and capable Elite Guard? Why did they have to take such care to keep him out of anything remotely stressful?

"Blurr? Are you okay?"

The mech in question jumped; a white faceplate turned to stare at the wide-opticked Autobot standing by the doorway.

"Trackback.." A deep sigh. "I'm absolutely fine. There's no need to worry."

"If you say so.." Still, concern clouded the former prisoner. "Uhm.. Do we have anything to eat?"

"I.." Blurr stopped. "..That's actually a very good question." With everything that had been happening, he could not recall when either of them had last had any energon introduced in to their system. He hadn't asked if either of them had been fueled while the medics had repaired them; the last he could actually recall was back inside the Decepticon ship.

Now more than a little curious himself, the blue Autobot stood and made his way to the apartment's small kitchen. It took a few seconds to stumble out of the automatic limp that he had adapted in captivity; when he noticed it, the speedster snarled at his own frame.

The kitchen wasn't very large; Cybertronians simply did not need to cook in the same manner Blurr had heard organics did. Although every kitchen came equipped with a refrigerator to keep energon fresh and cool, the only other necessity was a flavoring station. Cliffjumper held his kitchen to the bare minimum, it seemed; there was only those two things against the wall and nothing else.

The fridge was opened; Blurr stopped for barely a nanoklik before quickly shutting it again. His optics stretched wide in stunned disbelief.

Somehow, he had forgotten that the kitchen hadn't been touched for several months.

Nearby, Trackback gaped. "Wow. I.. I can actually smell that from here."

"..I'm going to call a professional who is hopefully very brave and won't charge too much to handle energon locked in a closed container for far past it's expiration date and possibly decontaminate the entire fridge while at it." Blurr twitched and pulled back from the cooler in question; the stench reminded him far too much of what the corpse in Shockwaves' closet had smelled like. A deep shudder coursed through his frame at recollection. "Or it may possibly be better to simply acquire a whole new fridge and save everyone a whole lot of trouble in the process."

With that, Blurr rushed to the comm.

* * *

Technically, neither of them should have left the apartment without letting an Elite Guard escort them. They certainly should not have been out in public without anyone other than each other, at least; it was one of the first things Red Alert had ordered in the name of good mental health. At least, that had been her reasoning behind it.

Ordinarily, Blurr wouldn't ignore the advice of a medic so casually; more than a few times, medics had patched him up after one of Wheeljack's upgrades didn't work out as planned or he decided his natural gifts could accomplish more than physically possible. However, a brief moment of forgetfulness allowed him to leave the apartment complex without fear. When that moment passed, the speedster had nearly stopped to head back inside; then, a growing anger at the Elite Guard had formed. Their lack of success with Cliffjumpers' fate caused an unwillingness to call headquarters.

For the moment, he wanted nothing to do with the Elite Guard.

After all, they were only leaving the building for an hour or two in broad daylight. What could happen?

However, Blurr had forgotten one very important thing: Trackback hadn't been part of normal society for a very, very long time. He finally did notice it a moment too late when, with a quick glance around, the blue mech realized he had completely lost track of his friend. The yellow and blue mech was no where in sight.

"Trackback?" The crowd wasn't very large; it was still only afternoon, and most were either in work or caring for sparklings let loose from daily education. Despite the few bots milling around, there was no sign of the former prisoner. "Trackback?!"

A quick frame sped around in a sudden panic, moving from store to store in the attempt to find the missing Autobot; the idea that something could have happened to the mech was a growing, terrifying possibility. They had only just been rescued a few solar cycles beforehand; if anything happened now, it would be entirely his fault.

Blurr didn't want to believe he could have abandoned two of his closest friends in such a short amount of time.

"Trackback! Where are you?!"

It wound up that he didn't have to go far; it took less than a few minutes to find the wayward mech in, of all places, a small toy store.

"Oh, thank Primus." Blurr nearly collapsed as he stepped inside; the relief was overwhelming. "Trackback, Primus, for the love of everything, never, ever, ever, _ever_ run off like that again! I nearly had a spark attack when I saw you were missing! What are you doing in here, anyway?"

Trackback didn't answer. Instead, a troubled expression crossed his faceplate as he stared at a fairly large, plush drone in his hands.

"..Trackback?" Blurr frowned.

No answer; perturbed blue optics simply stared at the doll.

For a moment, Blurr wasn't certain what to do. He sputtered in a moment of rare speechlessness; then, he hesitantly laid a hand on a yellow and blue arm. "Okay, Trackback, you're going to have to put that down --"

One of the loudest screams the speedster had ever heard erupted from his friends' vocalizer. Blurr jumped back in alarm.

Trackback clung to the plush toy and dropped to the floor; he hugged the doll in his arms and curled up against the wall, rocking back and forth as he began to shake.

"..Oh, this isn't good." Blurr murmured to himself, openly gaping along with several nearby shoppers and employees. "Trackback..!"

"_Don't take it away from me!_"The former prisoner shrieked and clung tighter to the toy.

"Okay, okay, I won't take anything away!" Blurr held up his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "Trackback, it's me, Blurr, just.. Calm down, okay? We're in a toy store, we're not anywhere dangerous, we're safe.."

Nothing but a whimper escaped from the quaking, terrified frame on the floor. The doll was clung to tighter.

"..Slag." Blurr moaned. He glanced around at stunned passerbys. "..Anyone have a portable comm?"

* * *

It had taken nearly twenty cycles to calm Trackback down. Even when the shaking had subsided and reality had returned to the young mech, he had still refused to let go of the plush toy.

If only to get his friend calm and the both of them out of the store, Blurr purchased the toy. He had never been so glad to leave a store in his life; by the time the Elite Guard were escorting them away, the crowd had grown to an uncomfortable size. The speedster found that he didn't like having so many sets of optics aimed in their direction.

Despite that every optic shone with a comfortably familiar shade of blue, it reminded him far too much of the leers various Decepticons had given him.

Thankfully, once back inside their apartment, the Elite Guard officers were content to leave them again. A few concerned, piteous glances were spared before they left.

"Trackback, what the slag happened back there?" Blurr rubbed his faceplate.

The still shivering yellow and blue mech sat on the couch made for a model too small and pulled up his knees; the square plush drone was still clutched in scarred and healing servos. "..I didn't want it to go away." The words came in a hushed whisper a shy sparkling would have held.

"Okay, yes, fine, but why?" Blurr sat on a nearby chair. "You scared the slag out of us, you know. You _screamed _in there! In the middle of a toy store! I didn't know if you were having a panic attack or what was going on in there and it scared the pit out of me!"

"I.. I don't know." Trackback frowned; he stared resolutely at the doll. "I just didn't want it to go away."

"..Fine." Blurr gave up; he didn't want to press his friend too hard on the subject. "All right. It's.. It's okay, now, though, right? You're not going to start screaming for no obvious reason at anything else, now, right?"

A slow nod.

"Good.." The speedster sighed.

For a moment, they sat there in an uneasy silence. Both recently rescued Autobots attempted to relax and clear their processors as the cycles passed on by.

As the stress slowly ebbed away, Blurr let out a sigh. "..We forgot the energon."

A small, shaky frown crossed a blue faceplate. "Sorry.."

"I'll call delivery. I know a few nearby places that have some interesting flavors and styles and it shouldn't cost too much." Blurr stood.

"Delivery?" Trackback perked up in sudden wonder. "There are places that _deliver _energon?!"

"Uhm.." Blurr blinked in surprise. "Cafes, mostly, but, yes, of course.."

"Wow.." All at once, the earlier stress and sadness left Trackback; he even began to bounce slightly on the sofa, doll held in his hands. "Awesome.."

With a smirk, Blurr picked up the comm.

* * *

_How come I must know_

_Where obsession needs to go?_

_How come I must know_

_Where the passion hides it's feeling?_

_How come I must know_

_The direction of revealing?_

-- 'Obsession', See-Saw


	34. Chapter 34

Author notes: This chapter and the next chapter -- possibly the next two chapters -- will be nothing but angst. Pure, solid angst. Aaaangst. Somewhat emo angst. Emooo aaangst. .... Funny thing is, I'm usually a very happy person. XD

This angst also serves to move the plot along. Yay! Emo angst plot-ness!

I had to use this song choice. I just had to.

RESPOND TIME. YAY. :D

To all questions about the toy: ... I don't know. My brain refuses to tell me why the toy was so important. My brain likes to do that, sometimes, and reveal it later. Silly brain.

DreamStoryWeaver: ..A while. A very, very long while.

Blackmoondragon: Amusingly, the energon thing was inspired by true events. A news story from a little while ago said that a hazmat crew had to clean a company fridge because, when it was opened, several people fainted and were sickened by the fumes. IT'S POSSIBLE. XD

* * *

_Jeepers, creepers_

_Where'd you get them peepers?_

_Jeepers, creepers_

_Where'd ya get those eyes?_

_Gosh oh, git up_

_How'd they get so lit up?_

_Gosh oh, gee oh_

_How'd they get that size?_

_Golly gee_

_When you turn them heaters on_

_Woe is me_

_Got to put my cheaters on_

_Jeepers, creepers_

_Where'd ya get them peepers?_

_Oh, those weepers_

_How they hypnotize!_

-- "Jeepers Creepers", Louis Armstrong

**Souvenir: Chapter Thirty-Four**

* * *

Four months had passed and almost nothing had changed.

It had been four months of the same terrible monotony since Blurr had run away. Four months of Shockwaves' ever predictable schedule. Four months of loneliness and despair.

Cliffjumper had known that nothing would change; nothing could, really. He had known the moment he had been set back in Shockwaves' quarters, one afternoon, and realized the constellations outside were different. He had known that they must have moved the ship very far away; he couldn't even recognize a good portion of the stars when he gazed out at them. Certainly nothing he could have recognized from Cybertron's surface.

After the fourth month of solitude, he had felt the last fragments of hope vanish deep within his spark. He had been able to physically feel it wither away, one night, when that hated red optic leered down at him after the final alarm. Instead of the entirely useless fights that the last remaining pieces of his pride forced him to put up, a deep, horrid grief had settled over his processor. Instead of opening with a swear or an attack of some sort, a red helm had simply looked up from his huddled position on the floor.

He simply couldn't find the will to fight. No matter how deep in his own psyche he dug for resistance, he simply could not find it.

"Can't you leave me alone for one fragging night?" The minibot had tried to glare; he wasn't certain if he had succeeded. "For sparks sake, can't you just let me recharge in peace?"

Shockwave had either been too stunned or too amused to react harshly. For a long few seconds, the Decepticon simply stared down at his depressed captive.

"You know the answer to that."

He wasn't certain how, but Cliffjumper had known that a grin had graced Shockwaves' faceplate.

Then, claws grasped at his shoulder with a slightly more gentle air than usual; the minibot neither twisted nor tried to pull away. Cliffjumper simply let loose a deep, miserable sigh.

Soon after, there was nothing else but pain.

* * *

The mech across the hall was, for the most part, poor company. Still, he was the only friendly face in a sea of violence; the red and white slave was all that was left for possible companionship in this place. It was unfortunate that the only moments that they had were during those daily meetings and only then in clipped visual code; they were simply too far apart to speak aloud even if they wanted to risk being overheard. Cliffjumper would have liked to know what the other mech sounded like.

Most of their time was still spent in conversational silence; the red and white mech tended to stare at the floor for most of the time that they awaited their masters to return. The other slave hadn't even been able to give an answer on how long he had been held captive, but Cliffjumper had the feeling he had been a broken husk for a very long time.

The former secretary knew he wasn't far off from the same fate. It was a state only marginally better than falling in to the pits of insanity; at least, this way, they kept some part of themselves still whole.

Like so many other days, the Autobot symbol on a red chassis lit on and off in rapid succession; it ordinarily took several minutes of flickering to get the other bots' attention. This particular day, it was taking longer than usual; nearly five full cycles had passed with no success. The other mech barely even moved.

Just as Cliffjumper was ready to give up in his endeavor -- he had done so on several occasions --, the door to the meeting slid open. The light on his chassis shut off immediately, ever wary of the attention it might receive.

Oddly, the door did not slide shut again. Hesitantly, mismatched optics looked up at the unusual event.

The meeting had begun a bare half hour beforehand; yet, Decepticons were now leaving the room with manic grins that radiated a terrible excitement. The dark glee would have been something to be feared even if he hadn't been chained to the wall; it didn't help the growing paranoia that the meeting should not have ended for several hours yet.

A glance to the red and white mech only solidified his fears; the previously unresponsive slave now appeared frightened.

Something was happening and he didn't know what it was; the lack of knowledge frazzled his already cracked senses.

None of the Decepticons said anything of value or gave any sign as to what was happening. Shockwave was even silent -- although seemingly in a pleasant enough mood -- when he grasped the leash and detached it from the wall.

Cliffjumper had no choice but to follow. A glance around revealed the red and white Autobot was in a similar position; both were being led in the same direction with the group of Decepticons. Megatron himself led the pack.

He didn't know what was happening, but he had the feeling he wouldn't like it.

The Decepticons chatted amiably as they passed hallway after hallway. After a few short minutes, the area was no longer recognizable; they were heading to a part of the ship Cliffjumper had never been to. That alone spiked the panic even further.

Eventually, they reached a very large door; the Decepticon Lord himself had to input the passcode to open it. As soon as it did, screams and whimpers erupted from the other side.

For the most part, the room was a vast chamber with absolutely no furniture. It may have been built as a storage room; uncovered pipes ran overhead and all decoration was missing. Piles of energon cubes and boxes lay in the back; quite a few of the boxes sported logos from various companies. In the center of it all, surrounded by Decepticons wielding vicious weaponry, huddled nearly two dozen Autobots wrapped in chains and shackles.

Cliffjumpers' jaw dropped; a glance to the red and white mech showed similar shock.

After a moment, the minibot noticed a logo identical to one displayed on several of the boxes was being sported by several of the terrified mechs and femmes. It was an all too familiar symbol to his old life; the Elite Guard had done business with this group on a number of occasions. A simple but well-known delivery service.

It didn't take long to make the connection; the Decepticons must have attacked them while they were making a shipment and taken the goods. The former secretary wondered when piracy became a standard method of warfare.

"An unusually large catch." Lugnut sounded impressed, but the disinterest was obvious. "My lord..?"

"You may leave if you like, Lugnut." Megatron waved a hand dismissively.

"I would prefer to stay for a short while, my lord. More than one set of optics will need to watch them, I believe." Lugnut's gaze was aimed on neither the new captives or the cargo captured with them; instead, the oddly set optics were affixed squarely on a small pocket of Decepticons.

Only then did Cliffjumper notice that the surrounding Decepticons didn't seem to care about the energon shipment they had stolen; instead, more than a few practically drooled over the crying, praying mass of prisoners.

The red minibot shuddered at the realization.

"Why are the femmes still here?" Shockwave queried.

"We wanted to be certain you had a chance to see them all, Lord Megatron." A heavy-set Decepticon Cliffjumper didn't recognize bowed low to the gray mech. "Especially after that one incident with --"

"Yes, yes." Megatron interrupted with what appeared to be frustration. "I rather not delve my thoughts in to _that _blunder again. Get on with it."

"Of course, my lord." The heavy-set mech grinned.

There were no further words spoken nor hand signals shown to the rest of the red-eyed vultures; the Decepticons milling about simply dove in to the chained lot. Red optics leered before grabbing on to slender frames to pull them away from screaming, terrified allies.

The femmes shrieked and yelled in a symphony of sheer panic; chained mechs cried out in alarm. Several attempted to fight back, ramming and hitting at their much larger captors with shackled fists; others grabbed for their friends and loved ones in the attempt to pull them back. However, as expected, nothing worked; those that tried to resist were struck down or simply ignored as the few femmes were dragged away and out of the room. Some of the femmes literally kicked and screamed; others openly wept, intakes hiccuping as they were led past and out the door a scarce few mechanometers from Cliffjumpers' frame.

Cliffjumper knew where they were being taken; a deep shudder coursed through his systems.

Chuckles from the soldiers overshadowed the quieting Autobots that remained. Terrified blue optics gazed around; it didn't take long for the captives to spot the leashed slaves already present.

The stunned horror practically radiated off of them in waves; several physically recoiled when they spotted Cliffjumper. He didn't blame them, although he winced at their expressions; with his discolored hands and optic, he must have been a terrible sight.

Decepticons began to move in with the slow, sinister air a pack of hunters would grace their wounded prey. Laughter rose and was soon accompanied by cruel commentary.

"Oh-ho! I like the color on this one!" One remarked, laughing, as he grabbed hold of a frightened Autobot's arm.

"Hrm." A rather large, bulky mech peered down at an Autobot less then half his size; blue optics looked up in widely set terror. "Nice mold. Not too fond of the face, though.."

"Hey, Wisp!" A third cackled as a clawed servo grabbed hold of a captive's helm. "Think this one would break if we shared 'im?!" The mech being mishandled let loose a terrified keen.

It was all a grotesque display of casual brutality; Cliffjumper looked away from the scene and barely kept himself from purging.

He couldn't help but wonder if this was how slaves were typically brought in; hunted as if they were sport and then sorted like so many spare parts.

"Hmm.." Shockwaves' murmured from above him. Slowly, Cliffjumper looked up; he gulped, a dreadful feeling forming in the pit of his spark as he witnessed a talon thoughtfully tap at a cyclopean helm.

Without a word, cloven pedes took slow, steady steps towards the new captives. One clawed servo still gripped the tail end of the leash; Cliffjumper followed, but tried to stay as far away from his fellow Autobots as possible. A deep shame suddenly coursing through his meta at his new status refused to allow him to truly look in to the many pairs of blue optics.

Yet, even with the shy behavior, it didn't take long to notice the particularly small body trying to hide behind larger companions. The larger frames were clearly trying to hide the bot from view, even going so far as to glare and growl at Shockwaves' approaching form. They weren't able to hide everything, however; from a gap between chest plates, the former secretary could spot a sloped shoulder guard attributed to only one common protoform mold. It gleamed a bright yellow and may as well have had a giant arrow sign above it.

"It would be wise of you to move." Shockwave declared, optic aimed directly at the center of their huddled forms.

The Autobots protecting their smaller companion said nothing; they simply glared in return.

An overdramatic sigh left the cyclops. "Would you prefer I force you apart? I promise that it would not be pleasant."

The captives did not respond; they glared in frightened defiance.

"Very well, then." Shockwave shook his head ever so slightly.

Then, a clawed servo lurched forward; the self-made guardians had no time to protect themselves or to stop the assault. However, the talons did not strike any of them; instead, it stretched between two of their frames to grab at the mech they strove to protect. The small Autobot within was pulled out with a harsh tug, talons wrapped around his entire helm.

It all took less than a few seconds. The larger Autobots sputtered in stunned disbelief; the smaller screamed and flailed, servos trying to pry the thick claws from his faceplate.

Shockwave didn't take the Autobot far; the writhing body was released in the short distance between his companions and the purple cyclops. The mech -- now clearly a minibot, although Cliffjumper had suspected as much already -- landed in a heap of twitching limbs. He didn't bother to try and stand; the bot simply sat upright and looked up what must have seemed a very long distance to the single, slitted optic peering down at him.

The minibot sported the exact same protoform mold that Cliffjumper -- as well as most of Shockwaves' slaves -- did. He had already deduced as much.

"Leave him alone, you sick freaks!" One of the larger Autobots shrieked, even as a much larger enemy held him back.

Shockwave ignored him; instead, he grabbed hold of the shackles around his current interest and tenderly lifted the quaking mech to his pedes. The bright yellow minibot shuddered and hugged his own shackles; with the way his stabilizing servos shook, he appeared ready to collapse at any moment.

It was only then that Cliffjumper noticed how quiet the room had become. Although whimpers and soft cries erupted from the captives, nearly all optics were on Shockwave and the poor Autobot before him.

Despite what he regularly survived through, Cliffjumper looked to the yellow mech with pity; he knew exactly what fate awaited the young bot.

Blue optics seemed to suddenly notice him; they performed a double take and likely would have widened if the mech's processor wasn't already as far deep in to fear as it could go. The yellow minibot gulped, still shaking. "..Oh, frag.."

Cliffjumper couldn't help but think that those words encapsulated the situation rather well.

"My lord..?" Shockwave never looked away from the yellow frame cowering beneath him.

"If you would like that one, Shockwave, you can take it." Megatron sounded amused.

"Thank you, my lord." A grin may have graced Shockwave's faceplate; Cliffjumper was never able to be certain. Regardless, a new leash and collar was set within waiting claws before being clasped around a yellow throat.

The minibot did not resist; for the moment, he appeared to be in shock.

Then, Shockwave turned to leave; both leashes were in hand as he stalked away.

The yellow mech took a single step from force alone before stumbling over himself; Cliffjumper winced and moved without thinking, wrapping one arm around the other frame to support him.

At once, the volume rose behind them. Both angry and fearful shrieks erupted, accompanied by laughter.

"Don't touch him, don't you dare hurt him!" The same Autobot that had yelled before yelled again. "You won't get away with this! The Elite Guard --"

The door closed behind them and blocked out all sound.

* * *

_Gosh oh, git up_

_How'd they get so lit up?_

_Gosh oh, gee oh_

_How'd they get that size?_

_Jeepers, creepers_

_Where'd ya get them peepers_

_Oh, those weepers_

_How they hypnotize_

_Where did ya get those_

_Golly, where'd ya get those_

_Where did ya get them there eyes?_

-- "Jeepers Creepers", Louis Armstrong


	35. Chapter 35

Author notes: ~ It's the fic that never eeeends ~ It goes on and on my friiiiiends ~ You started reading not knowing what it was ~ And you'll read on forever if only just because ~

..It had to be said. Even I know this thing is dragging on too long. I am so sorry. ... And also a little glad.

Holy crap did I get a lot of reviews last chapter. O_o

RESPOND TIME. YAAAAY.

To EVERYONE who guessed Bumblebee: I'm sorry to disappoint. I hope the reveal isn't TOO bad, though. ;)

GreyLilly: Have you seen the Allspark Almanac entry for Cliffjumper? He was apparently _too angry_ and had too much of a temper to be a spy. Think about that. The military decided he was too violent.

KyuubiSango: Tintinnabulation? It means, simply put, a ringing noise. XD Oh, online thesauruses, how I love thee..

Zaran: Even though I doubt you're reading this, as you said you stopped, I have to say.. Why did you start reading in the first place despite ample warning of the subject matter? XD This thing WILL end eventually. ... Eventually.

Reka1207: Very carefully. And you shall see.

Peacewish: For once, there is no giant wooden horse involved. XD

Dream Story Weaver: Oooh.. You, my friend.. You are GOOD. You noticed the subtle detail, there. Kudos to you, my friend! =D

Black Moon Dragon: I.. Actually have no idea. In my head, they were very shadowy and only barely had any form at all. Probably because, as 'background' characters, they really weren't all that important. ... But my brain says one might have been Springer. o_O

* * *

_On candy stripe legs, the spider man comes_

_Softly through the shadow of the evenin' sun_

_Stealin' past the windows of the blissfully dead_

_Looking for the victim shivering in bed_

_Searchin' out fear in the gathering gloom_

_And suddenly a movement in the corner of the room_

_And there is nothing I can do when I realize with fright_

_That the spider man is having me for dinner tonight_

_Quietly, he laughs and shaking his head_

_Creeps closer, now, closer to the foot of the bed_

_And softer than shadow and quicker than flies_

_His arms are all around me and his tongue in my eyes!_

-- 'Lullaby', The Cure

**Souvenir: Chapter Thirty-Five**

* * *

The walk towards Shockwaves' quarters seemed to be much longer than usual. Cliffjumper couldn't be certain if the extra distance was real or simply imaginary; it was certainly possible that the halls passed between the meeting room and that strange storage facility could have added quite a bit of time to the journey. Still, every step seemed to take an eternity to complete.

The mech clinging to him was certainly a distraction from the numb haze he could ordinarily fall in to; the similarly leashed and collared bot shook and trembled and likely would not have been able to walk without the support he offered. Cliffjumper didn't blame him; he could still recall his first few solar cycles in this place and all the terror that came with it.

The normal occurrences -- the distant screams, the cries of pain from nearby slaves and the chortles of malicious Decepticons -- were still in place. Each and every sound set off a new bout of trembles and a few barely audible whimpers from the yellow frame; wide blue optics continuously glanced around in panic.

Still, the yellow bot never once tried to run or pull away from Cliffjumper; the former secretary wondered if the young bot knew by now that there was no way out. He wondered if the the new slave knew what fate awaited him at the end of their walk.

In the elevator, they finally had a chance to pause, even if only for just a moment. The brief few seconds of inactivity proved to be the final straw; yellow stabilizing servos finally collapsed from underneath a trembling frame.

Cliffjumper gasped and tried to lift him back up; the elevator door slid open before he could properly get the shellshocked minibot back to his pedes. A pull on both their leashes only brought about more difficulty; they both stumbled at once, near identical molds falling halfway inside the elevator and halfway out.

Shockwave stopped and glanced back. The expression on the Decepticon's angular faceplate was as unreadable as ever; still, he appeared to be waiting for them. Unwilling to test the cyclops' patience, Cliffjumper moved hurriedly and grabbed at shaking yellow arms with more force than was likely necessary.

It took a long few seconds to complete. Shockwave maintained silence the entire time and didn't begin to walk again until the red minibot securely held the yellow mech with one bright yellow arm over a red-plated shoulder.

From there, it was barely a few cycles more before they were inside Shockwaves' quarters. Claws grasped at their collars as soon as they were inside. Cliffjumper simply waited for the metal to be unlatched; the yellow bot, however, jolted at the contact.

The collars were set on the shelf before Shockwave turned to leave. "I will return at the usual time." With that, he walked away. The door slid and locked behind him with an audible click.

As soon as he was gone, Cliffjumper looked to the mech he continued to support. "Are you okay?"

Wide optics stared. After a moment, the bot nodded; intakes came in short, fearful breaths.

"Come on.." Cliffjumper sighed; he moved towards the chaise, knowing the other mech was in no condition to make the short climb on to the top of the chair. "We have a few hours before Shockwave gets back."

As soon as he was on the plush sofa, the yellow Autobot practically collapsed on the comfortable lounger. He then curled up and optics shut down in a clear attempt to calm himself; the only sign that he hadn't slipped in to recharge were the fast-paced movements of his own intakes and the occasional hiccup.

Now that they were relatively safe, Cliffjumper finally had a good look at the bot he would likely spend a great deal of time with. He had been correct in earlier assumptions; the yellow Autobot sported the exact same protoform mold in a bright, sunny yellow with black highlights. Even his windows had a dark tint, although the mech's faceplate sported a pale yellow hue. Nothing else appeared particular spectacular; rounded sensory horns instead of the atypical point appeared to be the only real diversion from the standard layout.

After nearly ten minutes of general silence, blue optics slowly lit up again. Finally, the yellow mech glanced around and appeared to take stock of where he was.

"This.. This is the weirdest cell ever." The words came hushed and bordered on a sob.

A saddened smirk crossed Cliffjumpers' faceplate. "Trust me, it's as bad a prison as the Stockades." The smirk vanished as he looked to the curled up mech.

He didn't even know where to begin; he had absolutely no idea what he could or should say.

The yellow mech stared back with wide, terrified optics. "You're.. An Autobot, aren't you?"

Cliffjumper winced at that. "The red optic wasn't my idea, kid. I'm an Autobot 'til the cycle I offline."

A sudden hiccup erupted from the yellow mech. "Wh.. What are they gonna do to us? Why are we here?"

The moment of truth; Cliffjumper gulped and tries to formulate a proper response. Carerra's words returned to haunt him again; had Hubcap felt this way when he had to explain what was going to happen?

Carerra had said she had been glad for the warning; he had to give this young bot -- and his mannerisms certainly hinted at youth -- the same courtesy. He had to know what was going to happen to him.

However, Cliffjumper found the words difficult to grasp.

"Why did.. Was that Shockwave, you said? _The_ Shockwave? Undercover spy, one of the most wanted Decepticons, deactivation-on-a-stick Shockwave?"

That last nickname was new; Cliffjumper couldn't help but stare at the yellow Autobot in faint amusement. "Yeah. Yeah, kid, that's him."

The mech gulped. "..Why are we here? This looks like someone's.. House."

"It is. It's Shockwaves' personal quarters." A deep frown crossed a red and gray faceplate. He opened his mouth to continue with the train of thought, but the words escaped once again.

Blue optics stared at the former secretary with fearful anticipation.

"..I'm Cliffjumper. What's your name, kid?"

"F.. Furao." The yellow Autobot gulped. "My name's Furao."

Cliffjumper blinked at that. "..Furao?"

"It's a weird designation, I know." Yellow shoulder guards shrugged. "My drill sergeant really liked organic languages and things. One of my boot camp buddies got stuck with the name Battle Unicorn, so it could've been worse." A small smile. "Once we found out what a unicorn was, we didn't lay it down 'til we graduated." He then stopped; the smile suddenly dropped. "..Why am I talking about this?"

Cliffjumper gulped. "Kid.. Furao.." He had a feeling it would take a while to get used to the bizarre designation. "Shockwave, he.." He looked away, unable to look at his new cellmate. "..We're his spark slaves. That's why we're here."

He didn't have to look at the pale yellow faceplate to know that horror must have overtaken him. The shaking that quickly took over the nearby frame could be felt even a few mechanometers away.

"No. No, no, no, no." Furao trembled and whimpered. "No, no, that.. Please tell me you're kidding me!"

"I'm sorry." A deep, shaky intake was taken. "I'm so sorry, kid."

"Is there a way to stop him?!" The yellow mech's voice began to pitch. "Isn't there something we can _do_?! Please tell me there's a way out of here or, or something!"

"I've _tried_, Furao." Pain filled optics looked back to the terrified yellow bot. "How do you think I got this optic and these servos? I tried to kill the slagger and get out of here before. A few times, even."

"Those servos aren't --" Furao gaped at realization. "..Oh, dear Primus." Trembling hands covered his faceplate beneath saucer-wide optics. "Oh my Primus.. Oh, _Primus_, he's.. He's really going to.." His intake hiccuped in a slightly different manner.

Cliffjumper let out a deep breath. He rushed to the same trash bin that Blurr had vomited in to in those early days and brought it back as quickly as he could.

Furao grabbed it as soon as he was able and repeated the same actions the previous captive had all those months ago; this time, Cliffjumper did not wince at the sound.

The yellow mech held the garbage can with both arms wrapped around it; his entire frame shook as he heaved inside, helm all but buried in to the molded plastic. He didn't bother to glance up when he eventually began to speak again.

"He.. Shockwave.. He did.. _That_ to you, didn't he..?"

A deep shudder coursed through a red frame. "Every.." He couldn't stop his own intake from hiccuping. "Every solar cycle since I got here."

Blue optics gazed over the top of the rim. "How long..?"

The former secretary was only slightly surprised that he had to think about it. "Nearly.. Seven months now. Just about."

"Primus.." Furao breathed again; he buried his face back inside the bin to dry heave further.

"Kid.." Cliffjumper frowned. "..Shockwave is going to come back in.." He glanced at the clock. "..A little under two megacycles. When he does, he's going to sit on the bench you're on for three quarters of a megacycle to do some reading. Sometimes, he likes it when I'm.. When one of us is sitting with him, but, most of the time, he's going to leave us alone. After that, though.." A deep intake. "After that, though, he's.."

Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to say the word. Despite enduring the horrific crime for months on end, the former secretary found that he couldn't talk about it; it was difficult even to warn the other Autobot. He had once worked with words and compiled hundreds of reports; he had never known simply speaking could be so terribly difficult.

"And.. And he's going to.. Keep doing it?" Furao sounded ready to sob. "Every.. Every solar cycle?"

"To one of us, yeah. It'll change. Whoever isn't.. Picked spends the night in the cage-tank thing over there."

Furao had to glance up to see what his cellmate referred to. "It.. It's transparent." A moan as he buried his faceplate in to the bin again. His words came out in a wail that was barely muffled by the plastic. "Oh my Primus, I'm going to get fragged by a sick 'con..!"

Then, the yellow mech finally began to sob. His frame shook as he barely clung to the trash bin, body still hunched over with his faceplate buried inside.

Cliffjumper simply set both hands on a yellow arm in the attempt at comfort.

* * *

No matter what Cliffjumper thought to do, Furao would not calm down. He supposed it was an impossible task to calm the yellow mech; not on this first night and not when they both knew what was coming for them.

So, he did the only thing that seemed proper for the situation; he kept tabs on the time. The hours ticked by in a slow, sickening churn of one whimpered cycle in to the next; the trash can hadn't even been set back in it's proper place until nearly two hours after it had been picked up. The new captive had clung to it as if it were a lifeline; he only allowed it to be set back when the stench of partially processed energon had become too much to handle.

Before the alarm clock had a chance to sound off a warning bell, Cliffjumper nudged his depressed and terrified cellmate. "He's going to be here soon. I usually sit in the corner while the slagger reads." He paused a moment in thought. "..I can't actually think of a reason why it's better to sit there, but it just seemed better to be as far away from him as possible before.." A saddened breath.

Furao continued to tremble, but he nodded slightly. "O-okay. Sounds like a good idea to me."

The red minibot didn't hesitate to help his new friend to the corner by the washrack door. The alarm finally did set off a bare second after they both sat down; expectedly, the yellow mech jumped at the noise.

"Just the clock." Cliffjumper smirked sadly. "I hate that thing. It's good warning, though."

Before Furao could reply, the door slid open. Shockwave walked in, quiet and aloof.

The trembles already wrecking havoc over a yellow frame only increased at the sight of the towering purple mech. The young minibot physically slid down and tried to hide behind an unsurprised Cliffjumper.

Shockwave didn't spare them so much as a glance. He simply picked a datapad from the shelf and sat back on the chaise.

Throughout the hour of waiting and knowing, Furao curled up and trembled behind a red-plated back. Whimpers erupted from the frightened minibot every few seconds but didn't appear to bother the Decepticon sitting a few mechanometers away; at least, Shockwave gave no sign that the noises bothered him. He simply continued to read, the only movements being a single talon pressing a button on the datapad he held.

When the alarm sounded again, Furao's optics lit up in sheer terror. Even as Shockwave only moved to set the novel back on the shelf, trembling yellow hands grasped hold of a red arm and clung on tight.

Cliffjumper frowned slightly. Still, he moved in to a protective stance; it was the same protective mode he had slid in to when Blurr had been there. He doubted it would do any more good than it had with his old friend; however, he couldn't allow himself not to try.

Cloven pedes neared; every step echoed in the near silence. A slitted optic peered down at both prisoners, glancing from the quiet, stoic figure to the trembling mess of metal. It didn't take long before a decision was made.

One claw grabbed hold of each arm and pulled them apart. Furao screamed in fear; Cliffjumper simply gasped in confusion. The latter quickly found the reason why they were both seized when he found himself thrust in to the transparent cage. The door was shut and locked in quick order; he didn't bother to try and open it.

Outside of the plexiglass tank, screams and pleading erupted from the yellow mech being dragged to the berth. Furao struggled fiercely, kicking, yelling, and even going so far as to bite the claws that held him. Of course, none of it worked; Cliffjumper knew it wouldn't. He had tried it all before, after all.

He couldn't bear to watch; it may have been months since he had last been in the cage, but his processor automatically moved him to the same spot he had occupied when Blurr had been forced to the berth. The former secretary laid down with his back to the torture and shut his optics offline.

There was simply no way he could slip in to recharge with the screams of terror so close. The screams quickly evolved in to shrieks of pain and pitched pleads for mercy. As a last ditch effort, he covered his audio receptors with what had become his servos; it barely helped to muffle the sounds.

Even when the pain-filled cries had quieted and silence finally reigned after what seemed to be a very long time, recharge wound up being impossible to find.

* * *

 _"Be still, be calm, be quiet now, my precious boy_

_Don't struggle like that or I will only love you more."_

_For it's much too late to get away or turn on the light_

_The spider man is having me for dinner tonight_

_And I feel like I'm being eaten_

_By a thousand million shivering furry holes_

_And I know that in the morning_

_I will wake up in the shivering cold_

_And the spider man is always hungry.._

-- 'Lullaby', The Cure

* * *

Author notes: ..Who saw THAT bot coming? :D He exists! Look him up on the TF wiki!


	36. Chapter 36

Author notes: This plot is actually moving along, now. I am pleased with such. Mmhmm.

Don't got much to say this time. xD

Stretch song is a stretch.

RESPOND TIME. YAY.

Smoking Caramels: Hope this chapter meets your expectations. ;)

GreyLiliy: My brain says that, yes, Longarm WAS that OCD. Somehow, it never bothered anyone. In fact, it made him seem responsible to the Elite Guard. *shrug* Also, I have that comic! ... The pink elf people reminds me too much of World of Warcraft. XD

Black Moon Dragon: My brain finally relented that one is Springer. Tho, Springer in TFA is apparently a cyber-ninja. XD And that song? I never even heard of it before I put it in; a friend suggested it and it just fit so, so well, didn't it?

Koi: At the mention of an accent, my brain said this: "ARGHLE. *flail* PFFFFT." ... I don't think it can handle any more accent attempts, right now. XD

Not So Dark: I think the word you may be looking for is 'adjusted'. As for the turbofox.. Probably not. But we'll see.

Shizuka85: A google search proclaims his name is pronounced similar to 'Fur-row'. My brain continues to pronounce it 'Fur-rae-oh'. But since this is all written and not spoken, it doesn't really matter, does it? XD

Pikaseel: I already wrote a similar fic with Bumblebee as a focus. XD Streamline. Go see, mayhaps?

Dream Story Weaver: He's actually in TFA. Briefly. And is a homage to the Brazilian G1 translation, it seems. As for two bots having the same mold and paint job.. There's actually a THIRD. Bumper. But he had a visor-optic and a slightly paler shade of yellow. And somehow manages to look like Charlie Brown.

* * *

_Walking alone inside my world_

_Thinking I'm doing the right thing_

_Destroying all that appears before me_

_It was all done in vain_

_Wanna get through violence_

_Wanna get through pain_

_Wanna get with violence_

_Wanna get with shame_

_Digging this place to call my own_

_Raping my body without a face_

_Tortured, my soul is black as pitch'_

_And I have no life to waste_

-- 'Haze', Korn

**Souvenir: Chapter Thirty-Six**

* * *

Cliffjumper awoke to the sound of crying.

The noise itself was so unusual and so out of the ordinary that the barely audible intake hiccups shook him out of recharge as soon as he processed them as real. At first, the red minibot gazed around in a distant confusion; for the moment, he had forgotten where he was and had been confused by the overhead glass.

Then, through the lightly tinted windows that made the small cage, mismatched optics landed upon the source of the noise. Across the room and barely visible beneath a slumbering purple giant lay a lightly twitching, shuddering mass of yellow.

Finally, memory returned. When recollection clicked in to place, a deeply unsettled frown crossed the former secretary's faceplate; another slave had been added to his masters' newly growing collection. The ninth to date, assuming no others had been captured before Hubcap had been. It was a depressing statistic.

He was really rather surprised Shockwave hadn't woken up from all the noise. More than a few times, simply breathing had set the Decepticon off; he wondered why the cyclops slept through these cries but had woken whenever he had barely twitched.

Seeking distraction, Cliffjumper glanced at the clock before checking his own internal chronometer; more than a few times, his own systems would glitch and either skip ahead or backwards at seemingly random moments. He had been able to connect the glitch to highly stressful situations; thankfully, the previous day had not had any adverse effects. Both of the clocks matched.

There was less than an hour to go. He gazed at the yellow mech through the glass in hopes of gaining his attention.

However, luck was not on his side, this morning; Furao didn't glance in his direction and Cliffjumper wasn't willing to make call to him. Instead, the mech trapped beneath the Decepticons bulk continued to whimper and sob.

Unsurprisingly, the cries didn't stop as the minutes ticked by. The miserable sound continued at a steady pace, neither climbing nor decreasing in volume during the seemingly long wait for Shockwave to wake up. Cliffjumper couldn't recall the last time the pre-morning cycles dragged on in such a fashion.

Eventually, of course, the great purple frame began to move. The caged Autobot simply knew when that red optic lit alight; Furao gave a mighty jump and a terrified keen when it happened.

Shockwave simply chuckled in amusement. Then, cloven pedes met the floor; within seconds, the padlocked door to the cage was unlatched and allowed the prisoners access to each other.

Cliffjumper didn't waste time; he moved out of the cage before the Decepticon was even in the washracks. Still, he waited for the door to slide shut before making his way to the berthside.

Furao didn't get up. In fact, the yellow minibot continued to whimper and cry, curled on his side with one arm wrapped around his knees and the other clumsily groping around in obvious search,

"Hey, kid.." Cliffjumper frowned; it took only a brief glance to find what his cellmate searched for. He grasped it in his own discolored servos and held it out. "It's right here, kid."

Blue optics lit up; then, Furao grabbed for his chest plate and quickly set it back on. The recently captured minibot struggled against his own trembling servos to properly connect the latches that held himself together.

Cliffjumper simply looked on with a knowing sadness. "Furao.. Kid, I --"

Before he had a chance to form more words, the quaking minibot all but leapt on his cellmate. Shaking yellow arms wrapped themselves around a stunned red frame; the sobs pitched in renewed frenzy.

Cliffjumper sputtered and staggered in shock; the sudden hug was completely unexpected and had taken him by surprise. He gulped, unsure what to do in response to the desperation; with confused hesitation, the former secretary simply returned the hug and gently patted a shaking backside.

The overhead pipes suddenly let out their morning call; the shower had been turned on.

The noise reminded Cliffjumper what was yet to come. With a wince, he looked to his young cellmate. There was no other course of action; his new friend had to know what was coming.

"Kid.. Furao.." The red minibot gulped. "In a couple of cycles, he's going to come back." The frame in his arms stiffened. "Shockwave's going to come out of the washracks and call your name. He's going to take you in to the washracks and clean you. He doesn't do anything else in there, though, so there's no point in fighting, okay? It's easier just to go in and let him scrub you down."

A few seconds passed in what seemed to be contemplation; then, Furao nodded his helm ever so slightly. "J-just.. Just cleaning..?"

Cliffjumper frowned. "He only.. Hurts us.. At night. I've never been fragged in the day." A deep intake. "Kid, after that, he's going to either put the collars on us or have us put it on our own necks. Either way, he takes us to get some energon and to pretty much sit down for a few hours. We're as close to safe as we're gonna get for now, kid."

A slow nod responded again. "O-okay.." A hiccup. "T.. Thank you. I know y-you're trying to help me. Thank you.."

Cliffjumper gulped again; somehow, he didn't feel as if he was helping at all.

For several cycles, the two captives simply held each other, finding a brief moment of comfort in a mech that had been a stranger less than a day before. Silence reigned save for the overhead pipes and the occasional hiccup from Furaos' trembling frame.

As expected -- although it felt like far too soon --, the door slid open. Both Autobots cringed at the sound.

"Furao. Come here." How Shockwave had even found out the yellow mechs name, Cliffjumper had no idea.

The bot in question let out a low keen. Slowly, he looked up with wide, frightened optics; blue optics glanced to his fellow minibot for guidance. Cliffjumper frowned, but gave a slight nod; it wasn't as if they could escape the inevitable.

With slow hesitation, yellow arms detached themselves from a red frame. Once his arms had nothing to hold, Furao hugged his own body as he forced himself along; Cliffjumper could see the soles dragging themselves along the floor, shaking all the while.

A slitted red optic rolled with impatience; then, claws grabbed at a yellow shoulder guard to hurry him along. Furao gasped aloud and gave a brief struggle. Still twisting, he turned to look back at Cliffjumper as he was he was pulled in to the washracks.

The door slid shut.

Then, for the first time in several months, Cliffjumper was left alone while another was cleansed. For a moment, he simply stood where he had been left, a heavy numbness falling upon his meta.

A sudden beep caught his attention; mismatched optics looked to the source.

The communications terminal; he hadn't seen it on for what felt like stellar cycles.

All at once, he recalled what he had once done with it; with recollection came the memory of what had happened when he had been caught. The last thing he wanted was to be sent back to Wire Tap again.

Yet, there was more to think about than himself, now. Blurr had once been his reason to call for help and push past the fear; Furao needed it as much, if not more so than the speedster once had.

With a deep intake, Cliffjumper rushed to the console; he may not have had any useful information, but there was still quite a lot that he wanted to send home.

* * *

One very important warning had been forgotten.

Cliffjumper had been so focused on preparing his new cellmate about all that Shockwave intended to do and what to expect that he had completely forgotten that other Decepticons routinely played a part in their new lives. The additional fact that Furao had been captured as part as a large group had also been displaced; the former secretary simply hadn't considered that the sightly different circumstance would make a difference in these critical first few days.

He simply hadn't thought to warn Furao that he may see his friends here and that they would likely be in unhealthy situations.

It wasn't until they were both seated in the cafeteria with energon cubes in hand did Cliffjumper realize his error.

"Oh no!" Furao gasped a little too loudly.

A red helm shot up in panic; the warning about keeping silent that Trackback had given what felt like so long ago had never been forgotten. "Keep it down!"

If the yellow minibot even heard the fearful hiss, he gave no sign; instead, wide blue optics were locked squarely across the uncrowded mess hall.

Both disturbed and curious, Cliffjumper gazed in the same general direction; it took several seconds of searching to find what had caught his new friends' attention.

A vaguely familiar green Autobot -- bearing a slightly bulkier build and several fresh-looking scars -- was staring right at them. Like the rest of the slaves dispersed throughout the large antechamber, the green bot was tethered to the wall with a rope of chain-link. A haunted expression displayed itself on the green mechs pale faceplate.

"..Do you know him?" Cliffjumper frowned; he rattled his memory files in search of why the green bot was so familiar.

"Oh.. Springer..!" Furao whimpered.

The memory was suddenly found; he had been one of the large Autobots that had futilely tried to protect Furao back in the storage room the day before.

It had only been yesterday; it felt like a lifetime ago.

"Kid.." Cliffjumper gulped. "Kid, he --"

Then, the Autobot symbol on the far off green chest plate began to flicker on and off with a fast stream of color and light.

"Is he insane?!" The former secretary hissed. "Anybot could see that in here!" Mismatched optics glanced around in a panic, searching for any sign that anyone -- any Decepticon, specifically -- had spotted the use of visual code.

It didn't appear as if anyone had.

With a growing paranoia, Cliffjumper looked back to the flashing lights; by now, Furao was responding in kind and the conversation was already in progress.

_What happened to the others?_ Furao asked, optics wide and a light tremble coursing throughout his frame.

_The others were taken away by different 'Cons, same as us._ Springer responded, jaw tight and mouth set in to a thin line. _This ain't good, kid. I can't find a way out._

Furao whimpered and shifted in place. Cliffjumper set a hand on a shaking shoulder guard; at first, the yellow minibot jolted. Then, the young mech sent a grateful smile to his companion.

_What happened to him?_ Clear horror crossed the green and white faceplate across the room.

Mismatched optics gave a quick glance around; again, no one appeared to have noticed the conversation. _Tried to fight back. It didn't go so well._

Even as far away from each other as they were, Cliffjumper could plainly see Springer gulp. _Slag._

Cliffjumper thought that that single word was putting the situation mildly.

A sudden fear crossed the green mechs' faceplate; both chained minibots braced for the question that they both knew was coming.

_Furao.._ Springer shifted in place; the action seemed unlike him despite that the red minibot had never met him before. _We saw Shockwave take you off. Did he..?_

The trembling along a yellow frame increased; after several seconds, Furao nodded and let loose a small, barely audible hiccup.

A myriad of emotions crossed Springers frame. Fear, rage, frustration and helplessness; each one splayed itself naked upon his form so clearly that the change between one to the next could have been pointed out as they occurred.

_I'm so sorry, kid._ Springer eventually transmitted; if he had been speaking aloud, he may have sputtered. _I wasn't able to protect you. I'm so sorry._

_ It's not your fault._ Furao hiccuped and sobbed; somehow, it felt as if this would be the last time that they spoke to each other. Perhaps it was.

A deep sigh evoked itself from Cliffjumpers vocalizer; gently, he patted a yellow backside in an effort to comfort the crying captive. He looked to the shivering young bot and tried to find some words to calm him or to possibly cheer him up; something that would help.

Not a single word came to mind.

Unable to find anything to say, the former secretary looked away. From the corner of mismatched optics, movement suddenly caught the attention of an ever-paranoid processor; Clifjumper glanced up in alarm, looking over and past his new friend. His optics widened at what he saw.

Shockwave was watching.

* * *

The rest of the day went on as usual. Despite that the hated single optic had seen at least part of the visual conversation go on, there was no punishment or even any sign that it had bothered him.

In fact, the cyclops appeared to be in a pleasant mood even after the daily meeting. As they were both set inside the Decepticons apartment, Shockwave simply left without a single word.

It was standard fare; a warning of his return was almost never given.

"What.. What happens now?" Furao looked to his fellow minibot.

"Now?" Cliffjumper sighed; he started to make his way towards the chaise. "Now, we wait for the slagger to come back. And when he does, he'll do his nightly reading and then it'll start all over again." With that, he fell back on the plush sofa and looked out the window.

"That.." Furao sputtered. "..Is that how life _is _in this Pit-hole?"

"Pretty much." Cliffjumper sighed. "And it'll just be the same thing solar cycle in and solar cycle out." A growl. "Until the fragger gets hold of some other poor bot and then there'll be three of us in here."

"A.. What?" The yellow minibot gaped; slowly, he made his way to the chaise and sat by the red mech. "A.. Another? What, Shockwave will just keep on.. Kidnapping more bots?!"

"Yup." Mismatched optics looked away from the window and the stars beckoning beyond the glass to stare at the young bot; sadness clouded any anger he tried to grasp for his oppressor. "This is _it_, kid. This is all we have to look forward to. Sometimes, he leaves for a few solar cycles to do something or other, but most of the time.. One of us gets fragged at night."

Furao shook his head slowly, stunned horror clear along his frame. "..How do we.. Keep going and not go bonkers?"

The question brought back a sudden memory. As the recalled file played itself through Cliffjumpers' processor, a small, sad smile formed. "A friend once told me that we just gotta.. Keep going and hope the Elite Guard gets us out someday. Then we can go back home."

At the very least, at least Blurr and Trackback had escaped.

Furao took in a deep intake; determination crossed a yellow faceplate seconds before the minibot nodded. "Okay.. Okay.. We just gotta.. Survive. Endure. Okay. Okay.. I can do that.. Won't let the slaggers beat me down.. Okay.."

Cliffjumper looked back to the stars; he didn't believe the words Trackback had once spoken, but he did not want to take that hope away from his cellmate.

He was simply so young; Furao needed that hope.

* * *

_Wanna get through violence_

_Wanna get through pain_

_Wanna get with violence_

_Wanna get with shame_

_I wish you'd do_

_Do anything_

_So lost and helpless_

_I played your game_

-- 'Haze', Korn


	37. Chapter 37

Author notes: Despite the fact that I re-read every single chapter at least twice before uploading AND run a spelling and grammar check, typos still elude me. They slip by. And it's seriously pissing me off. Gaaaah, typo demon, why must you torment me?! *cry* .. 'Diving intervention'?! What the hell was I trying to type?!

Know what? Cybertronians have time zones.

This plot is moving along some more. I may be able to finish this thing within a dozen chapters! Maybe less!

I couldn't help the song choice. I'm so sorry. My brain said "DO IT", so I did.

By the way, BBPuyo of Deviantart is still making illustrations for this. In case someone did not know. Check her scraps.

RESPOND TIME. YAY.

Koi: According to what sources I have, TFA does NOT have the Wreckers. I am not counting the latest issue of the Transformers Collector's Club magazine in this universe, as.. I'm not really sure what universe that takes place in, even if Sentinel Prime is in it.

Starfire201: The funny thing is, is that.. Most of the time, I really don't know what the hell I'm doing. XD I see things in my head, my brain goes, "WRITE THIS", sometimes it gives me four or five different ways a scene might go.. And I just write it. I no longer question my subconscious.

Renexola: The best in-universe fanfiction of any series? o_O Woah. That IS a pretty big compliment. But also see the response to Starfire201 above. XD

GreyLilliy: The Cliffjumper in my head said this: "Yeah, we'd probably get along. If he didn't kidnap me, hold me against my will and rape me. Yeah. We'd be peachy."

Smoking Caramels: Just a cyberninja, alas. Sorry. XD

* * *

_(Will drive you.. Mad!)_

_His eyes upon your face_

_His hand upon your hand_

_His lips caress your skin_

_It's more than I can stand!_

_Why does my heart cry?_

_Feelings I can't fight_

_You're free to leave me_

_But just don't deceive me_

_And please believe me when I say_

_I love you!_

-- 'El Tango De Roxanne', Moulin Rouge

**Souvenir: Chapter Thirty-Seven**

* * *

_ There were claws everywhere._

_ Atop him, around him, grabbing for every piece of his frame that wasn't already covered; dozens upon dozens of finely tipped blades that sought to do Primus only knew what to him. They crawled along like insects, detached from any semblance of recognizable form._

_ They were everywhere. He screamed and flailed, bashing his fists and twisting in the multitude of grips. By some miracle, he was able to free himself from them; still, they tried to latch on again, metal glinting in the darkness despite lack of any real light._

_ He ran. He ran as fast as he could in the shadows, searching for an escape through the thick haze of panic and fear. Running was all he could do._

_ A set of claws lurched from the darkness and grasped at the back of his helm; he yelled, but managed to free himself with a desperate strike of his own against them. When he turned around to continue his flight, a doorway awaited him. The frame glowed with what must have been light from the other side._

_ He didn't question the sudden appearance of an escape; the darkness here held too many dangers, too many demons that wanted to do too many terrible things. He rushed for the door._

_ It was unlocked, but the other side of the suddenly transparent glass held the means; a padlock went flying when the door was thrown ajar. Hurriedly, he shut it, fearful of the claws that may yet follow._

_ When he turned around to see where he had ended up, spark and processor alike froze in terror. It was a familiar place; a room he likely would never forget even at his dying moment. Everything he recalled was there; the chairs, the window, the closets and -- the worst of all -- the berth._

_ However, something had changed; the longer he stared, the more things shifted and became grotesque. The talons had followed him, it seemed, with the way they suddenly leaked themselves from the walls, forming out as if they were made of condensation. The berth grew posts made of pointed metal, the lounge that had once been the only place close to safety mutated in to large, be-clawed hands that groped hungrily at empty air._

_ Then, the optics came. Great, red slitted eyes that oozed from the walls; the clock was replaced with the only solid optic in this nightmarish place. It stared, never once blinking, as he felt himself shrink with despair._

_ None of this was real; it couldn't have been. "I must be dreaming, I must be asleep, this has to be a hallucination or a nightmare or a stasis nap or something oh please oh please I want to wake up now, please please please please..!"_

_ Suddenly, __**he**__ was there. The towering purple form practically waltzed out of nothingness, fading in to the twisted world that he now witnessed. The true optic stared down, but the claws of this monster did not grab for him. Instead, they already held another body within its' grasp._

_ A short, red body with mismatched optics and a thick, heavy collar around its' throat. The red form did not look at him or even up; instead, a multicolored gaze was pointed downward; what he could see of the red and gray faceplate was lax of any emotion._

_ The sight of the red frame coaxed a keen of dismay out of his shivering form._

_ Claws -- the real ones, this time, from the real monster and not from the many shadows and demons -- gently trailed themselves along the unresisting red mech with a false tenderness; he could still recall being the subject of those touches and how disturbing it had been. The red one did not resist, even as the talons began to grope at a red chest plate in obvious search._

_ "Primus.. Cliffjumper.." A whimper._

_ "You left me here." The voice was softer than he remembered. "You left me here all alone."_

_ "W-what?!" He could only stare in horror. "N-no, I didn't, I didn't want to leave you there --"_

_ "But you did. You abandoned me." Mismatched optics finally looked up to glare; the claws finally found the object of their desire and his chest plate fell apart. A shining, gleaming spark was bared nude before him. "You abandoned me, Blurr. Why did you abandon me?"_

"_Cliffjumper!_"A scream; Blurr shot upright and finally awoke from recharge.

Haggard breath came harsh for long, quiet minutes. Intakes heaved and fans whirled in the attempt to cool a system overheated from brutal nightmare.

He had known it was a dream; they had been plaguing him ever since his escape from that horrible place. Somehow, he never seemed to realize them while he slept; they always felt so terribly real, no matter how bizarre they became.

Blurr groaned and rubbed his faceplate with both hands; he felt like a fool. He should have been stronger than this. Elite Guardsman should not be having nightmares; not ones so effective, at any rate.

Slowly -- at least, slowly for him --, the speedster stumbled off of the chair that he had been recharging in ever since he took over Cliffjumpers' apartment. He would never be able to admit that despite the fact that a berth lay only a few mechanometers away, he could never bring himself to lay down on it.

He had tried, once; it hadn't gone well.

It was still early in the morning; far too early for any sane bot to be awake. However, he had grown used to being shaken via nightmare and simply made his way for the kitchen. He didn't even need to glance at a calendar to know what day of the week it was.

Therapy day. He had grown to terribly dislike it; the Elite Guard had refused to allow him back in to the official fold unless a psychologist cleared him. Four months of weekly sessions had passed by and that clearance continued to elude him.

Grumbling, Blurr grabbed a cube from the fridge before falling back on to a chair. He was already loathing the upcoming session.

The therapist always insisted he talk about his experiences. For once, he didn't want to talk about what had happened; he only wanted to get back to work so he could find Shockwave and rescue his friend. Why couldn't the doctor understand that? Why didn't the Elite Guard?

Why did they insist on treating him as if he had been broken?

A long swing of the energon was taken. Unfortunately, it was not high grade.

"Couldn't recharge?"

"Primus..!" Blurr nearly dropped the cube in his servos; he had to stumble to grab hold of it. He had been so deep in his musings that he hadn't even noticed the approaching form. "Trackback, you almost scared the spark out of me!"

The yellow and blue mech smiled sadly as he made his way in. "I heard you yell before. It was another nightmare, huh?"

Blurr winced; it was not the first time one of his screams had woken his friend from recharge. The only excuse against the guilt was that the reverse had happened on several occasions. "Yes, yes it was. The same one with the claws and walls dripping with big red optics."

"And Cliffjumper."

The speedster sighed. "And Cliffjumper." Another gulp of energon was taken.

A frown crossed Trackback's faceplate as he sat down by the kitchen table. "He'll get out one day. I know he will. I mean, I did, and if the Elite Guard could get me out after all that time.."

Blurr looked to his roommate with concern; lately, he had seemed more depressed than usual. "How are your sessions with the therapist going?"

"..Weirdly." Confusion accompanied the reply. "He keeps treating me like I'm a kid. Though.. I do kind of like the crayons and candy and stuff. Never had that stuff before.."

Blurr frowned in thought; the past few months had certainly been a trial for his friend. Trackback had been young enough at his capture that he simply could not recall how normal society had been; it was almost as if he never even been on Cybertron with the way he reacted to everything. Even after four months, he still reacted to a great many things the way a sparkling would have.

The therapist had claimed it could be stellar cycles before Trackback would stop regressing to such a sparkling-like state, if he ever did. Somehow, Blurr did not see anything wrong with this. After everything that had happened, the fact that the young mech was here at all was a miracle.

Although, even he had to admit that it was a little strange seeing a full grown mech carry around a plush drone everywhere he went. Trackback had even gone so far as to name the thing.

"Maybe we should get some crayons and candy and whatever else for this place. Primus only knows how long we'll be living here, so we may as well start to bring our own stuff to this place." Blurr shrugged slightly.

Trackback blinked in surprise. "..What?"

The speedster smirked at his friend. "I mean, if you like those things, why the slag not? It's not as if we can't afford it. Who the slag says a grown mech shouldn't have fun with coloring books and whatever else --"

A shrill ringing rent the air. Both mechs jumped in surprise at the unexpected noise and turned to stare at the source; the phone was ringing.

"..The slag?" Blurr frowned.

"Who's calling at this hour?" Trackback frowned. "Rodimus doesn't usually call until noon."

Blurr could only shrug as he zipped to the phone. Baffled confusion was present as he picked up the slim comm and held it up. "Hello? ..Rodimus? Do you know that it's really really early in the morning but we were awake anyway, so it's.."

A pause; the confusion faded in to shock. "Wait, what? Are you serious?!" Clear alarm. "Holy frag, I'll be there right away, well, in a few cycles, should Trackback come to or -- okay, okay, I'll let him stay here. I'll be there in a few cycles!" The phone was hung up.

Trackback stared with wide optics. "What's going on?"

Blurr sputtered in shock. "Cliffjumper sent another email."

* * *

Headquarters was a cacophony of commotion. Officers and Guardsmen rushed around and spoke with hurried voices; despite the early hour, there were several dozen mechs and femmes on duty in that section of the building alone.

Most of them monitored screens; the rest were making calls. Only one mech was not doing either activity and appeared to be waiting when Blurr arrived.

"Rodimus!" The speedster skid to a halt; he then recalled himself and saluted. "Er.. Rodimus Prime, Sir!"

"To slag with formality." The red and gold Prime shook his head. "We just got the email maybe ten cycles ago. Ironhide's on his way in to translate and even Sentinel Magnus is coming. It's been crazy around here since the email came in, everyone's trying to get the rest of the Primes not to say a word that they got it at all!"

Blurr supposed that made sense; the less bots that knew and spoke of the email, the less likely any Decepticon would find out about it as well. He shuddered simply thinking about what Shockwave would do if he found out Cliffjumper had actually gotten in to his computer; the punishment simply for trying had been horrible enough.

It didn't take long for both Ironhide and the current Magnus to arrive. Amazingly, the latter arrived first; most of the officers on duty expressed clear surprise that he was there at all. It was a well known fact that Sentinel Magnus tended to throw tantrums if he was awoken any earlier than ten in the morning.

"Do we have a translation yet?!" The Magnus yelled as soon as the doors slid open. Blurr had the feeling that if the doors were the Earthen sort, they would have been slammed apart. "Someone better classify it as a top secret document, and I mean _now_!"

"Already done, sir!" An Elite Guard called back. "And the translator is on his way!"

Before the sentence was even finished, the orange mech in question was being rushed in. Ironhide rubbed at his optics with one hand as the other was pulled along by an officer; it was obvious that he had only just woken from recharge and wasn't yet fully awake. As soon as he was in, the datapad was held out to the still partially asleep mech.

"You!" Sentinel yelled again. "Translate!"

"..Uh.." Ironhide sputtered. "..That's why I'm up? What'm I translating..?" He stared at the datapad; after several seconds, his optics widened. He appeared to suddenly recognize who he was speaking to. "Oh. Oh, uh, yes, sir! One.. One cycle, sir.."

The room had become completely silent. The machines and computers had even stopped making noise; Blurr glanced around in surprise at the attention so many were placing on the datapad and the mech that held it.

Several seconds ticked by. The expression on Ironehides faceplate passed from surprise to apprehension. "..Shockwave got hold of another bot."

Blurr had assumed as much already; otherwise, Cliffjumper would not have been able to send another email. Others, however, didn't seem to have made that connection; several hisses and noises of surprise echoed around them.

Ironhide glanced up briefly at the noises before looking back to the datapad. "H.. He says the 'Cons got hold of a whole ship of bots from.. From a Galaxy Express delivery ship?" Confusion; perhaps he had never heard of the company name before. "The bot Shockwave got hold of is named Furao.."

"Slaggin' Decepticons." Sentinel snarled. "Now they're picking off our _delivery _ships?!"

Blurrs' optics lit up with a sudden idea. "Sir! Magnus, sir!"

"Wha.. Agent Blurr?" The Magnus boggled. "Who the slag gave you clearance to come in here?!"

The speedster simply rolled his optics. "Magnus, sir, if you can find out which Galaxy Express ship had a crew member by the name of Furao on board and where it's supposed to be at this particular time, then the Decepticon flagship will probably still be in that sector because the email probably was only sent off yesterday or this morning and there's almost no possible way that Shockwave got hold of another bot before that time!"

For a long moment, the Magnus simply stared. Then, he glanced around. "Does anyone know what this bot just said?"

Blurr rubbed his faceplate with a palm.

However, several officers appeared to have understood the fast paced speech; a few screens were rushed to and seats occupied at the new notion to search by.

"Sir..?" Ironhide sputtered. "Uhm.. Cliffjumper also gave us a few more names of bots in there and says that he'll try to send back more information on actual attack stuff." A frown. "And.. Uhm.."

Sentinel frowned at the pause. "What's it say?!"

The orange mech gulped; he looked up, but instead of focusing on the Magnus, his optics were instead gazing in Blurr's direction. "Word for word.. 'Tell Blurr I'm sorry'."

* * *

_(What am I going to do?_

_You left me_

_You left me in a tango_

_My soul left me_

_Even my shadow left me)_

_Why does my heart cry?_

_Feelings I can't fight..?_

-- 'El Tango De Roxanne', Moulin Rouge


	38. Chapter 38

Author notes: ..Short filler chapter. Sorry. I had a LOT of writers block. My brain keeps jumping ahead to things, but I need to write what happens FIRST, and.. Argh. .... Chaos is forthcoming, I promise.

I have officially run out of songs.

Looks like this fic may actually end up being wrapped up by chapter 50. Primus willing.

Hehe, someone actually voted 'no' on my poll. This amuses me.

EDITED TWICE on May 3rd 2010 because ffnet ate my line breaks. :( Have some italic '1's!

_11111111111_

_Define your meaning of war_

_To me, it's what we do when we're bored_

_I feel the heat coming off of the blacktop_

_And it makes me want it more_

_Because I'm hyped up, out of control_

_If it's a fight, I'm ready to go_

_I wouldn't put my money on the other guy_

_If you know what I already know_

_It's been a long time coming_

_And the tables' turned around_

_'Cause one of us is goin'_

_One of us is goin' down_

_I'm not runnin'_

_It's a little different now_

_'Cause one of us is goin'_

_One of us is goin' down!_

-- 'You're Going Down', Sick Puppies

**Souvenir: Chapter Thirty-Eight**

_11111111111_

With a cry of frustration, Blurr finally realized why the humans had never employed the use of sliding doors; he would have so liked to slam one closed right about now. Instead, as he half stomped, half stalked back inside Cliffjumpers' apartment, he wound up punching a defenseless wall standing in his way.

The indentation that was left was given a fierce glare and a snarl.

"Blurr?!" Trackbacks alarmed voice came from somewhere else in the apartment. "Is something happening?!"

"I'm fine!" The speedster called back, but was unable to hide the fury in his voice. Without further explanation, he made his way to the nearest chair and fell back upon it.

It quickly became apparent that his brief explanation had not been enough; moments later, Trackback walked in from an adjoining room with wide optics and clear hesitation. The plush drone was held tightly by the young mech, hugged within the grasp of two gleaming arms; save for a few scars that never healed properly, the former prisoner appeared no different from any other Autobot of his age. "What happened..?"

For several seconds, Blurr said nothing. He didn't even glance to his roommate and friend; instead, hardened blue optics glared at an undefined point on the floor.

The silence spoke volumes, especially for the ordinarily verbose; surprise crossed Trackbacks faceplate. "Slag.. Something really did happen, huh? What did Cliffjumpers' email say..? Is.. Is he okay..?"

"He's alive, but that's not the point. It isn't so much what Cliffjumpers' email said, but what the stupid, slagging, son-of-a-glitch Magnus did about it!" White and blue fists clenched on either side of the chair. "Cliffjumper sent back enough information to actually find the Decepticon ship, which is all well and good and amazing, actually, since I guess no one figured we'd get lucky enough so soon especially since it could have very well taken stellar cycles to get the information, but Shockwave got hold of some new poor bot which is how Cliffjumper managed to send the email in the first place, so now we know where that flagship is and the Elite Guard is putting a rescue group together again and they're using everything I know and told them about Shockwaves' Primus-forsaken schedule that he keeps to know when to go in and where Cliffjumper is going to be, but they won't let me go with them to actually help anyone or to rescue Cliffjumper because they say I might regress or freeze up or have a flashback or something, so now I'm stuck back here when I could actually _do_ something and I just want to _break something _I'm so angry!"

As the speedsters' breath came hard and fast with anger clearly displayed on a white faceplate, all that the young mech listening to it all could do was stare for several long seconds.

"..I have absolutely no idea what you just said, Blurr." Trackback admitted in a meek, hushed tone. "You.. You went really, really fast, there, for a bit."

Blurr sent a pointed glare at his friend. Then, with a deep intake and gritted dentals, he forced himself to repeat his explanation at a slower pace.

_11111111111_

"Do the Decepticons know how we got in the first time?" A glare held firm on the Magnus's faceplate as he glanced to every single mech and femme around the room. Ordinarily, the expression may have incited annoyance or even disgust; now, resolute determination responded. There was even some shreds of hope and awe around the chamber.

"Not that we know of." Jazz shrugged helplessly. "The email didn't say one way or th' other. Our top bots say that since the 'cons moved around as a security measure, they probably don't got a clue we cloaked in."

Sentinel nodded at that. "Good. We're going in with the same plan as the last time, then. If anyone has any objections or added insight, now would be a fragging good time."

The fact that the Magnus was willing to accept advice at all had several faceplates glancing around in shock. For a moment, no one made any sound at all.

"Sir, we may have a problem."

"What?" The Magnus glanced up; the scowl on his face promised an impending tantrum. "Problem? What problem?"

Rodimus Prime didn't back down from the violent expression; instead, he stepped forward, concern clearly splayed on his form. "Cliffjumpers' message said that the flagship already moved twice. By the time we get to Earth and back here again with Prowl, the ship could very well move again and then we'd be back to square one." The red and gold Prime took in a deep intake. "We're going to have to find someone else with a similar cloaking device, sir."

"For the love of.." Sentinel sputtered in rage. "Do we even _know _anyone with a similar mod?! That ninja-bot was our best bet! How the slag are we supposed to pull this off now!?" The Magnus let loose an audible growl. "Someone either find somebot that has a similar mod and has the cogs to use it or _build_ one, and I don't care how you do it, but I want it done _now_!"

_11111111111_

It had taken less than an hour to find the proper file.

There was no surprise that the holo-projection devices were seldom used; they were expensive to construct and took time to learn how to wield properly. The cyberninja Prowl was one of only six Autobots that had one at all. The other five were quickly contacted, of course; five were either unfit or unwilling to use the device in the heart of enemy territory. Two of them hung up at the very mention of Decepticons.

No one blamed them; a good number of the Elite Guard balked at the idea of strolling in to the Decepticon flagship without an army to back them.

However, the sixth did not appear to have such fears.

"Sir, he's exactly what we were looking for!" A young officer all but bounced in excitement; simply handing over the report to the Magnus had bright blue optics light up in delight. Reporting the good news only seemed to make the mech all the more hyper. "He's stationed right here on Cybertron and has one of the most advanced holo-projectors on record! He even had some Elite Guard training done!"

"Really?" Sentinel Magnus boggled in momentary joy; it quickly vanished as the words were digested. "..Wait, 'some' Elite Guard training?" A frown. "What do you mean, 'some'? Did this bot get expelled?"

"Uh.." The reporting officer glanced to the datapad in his hands; a single finger-tap flipped through the files. "..According to this, he dropped out."

"An Elite Guard drop-out flunky?" Sentinels' frown deepened. "And you're positive that this bot's our best bet?"

"He's willing to go in, sir." The officer shrugged. "That's more than we have from anyone else."

The Magnus grumbled at a volume too low for the officer to overhear; after a brief second, he looked back to the officer. "Better than nothing, I suppose. He better know how to use that thing. What's this bots name?"

"Uh.." Another glance to the datapad. "Mirage, sir."

"..Mirage, Mirage.." Optics narrowed as the Magnus thought deeply; the designation was familiar, but he couldn't quite recall why. The name was tossed through his processor several times before the memory file was found. "Primus.. Does this mech live in the Towers?"

The young officer blinked once. "Uh.. Yes, sir. According to the file here, he is a current Tower resident.."

"Slag." Sentinel seethed. "A Towers brat. No wonder he has one of those mods." A blue hand rubbed a wincing faceplate. "Wonderful. I swear to Primus that he better know how to use that mod or I'll go in there and use it myself!"

"Uh.. Sir, that might not -- Oh. Oh, right, rhetorical." The officer seemed to shrink. "Sir, Mirage is set to meet Rodimus Primes' team this afternoon and can leave first thing in the morning. All they need is your permission to continue as scheduled."

"Fine, they got it." The Magnus scowled. "Just give me the fragging datapad so I can sign them off."

_11111111111_

_Let's take a trip down memory lane_

_The words circulate in my brain_

_You can treat this like another all the same_

_But don't cry like a bitch when you feel the pain_

_I'm not runnin'_

_It's a little different now_

_'Cause one of us is goin'_

_One of us is goin' down!_

-- 'You're Going Down', Sick Puppies


	39. Chapter 39

Author notes: Another bit of a short chapter. Now I'm doing this on purpose to make you all suffer. XD BWAHAH.

..Also, real life has suddenly gone insane. Oops.

Is it me, or can this thing technically be separated in to 'books'? o_O

FFnet is eating all my line breaks. O_o More italic '1's!

Mirage will make his grand appearance next chapter. I hope I get his dialect and personality right.

RESPOND TIME. YAY.

Animaluvr3: I.. I actually really like this song. Never heard it before. Woah, thanks for a new song for my iPod! XD

Grey Lilliy: I can only bring in so many characters in to this story! XD Heck, I think I went over what I should have as it is!

'The Real Real Anonymous': In response to your song question, it isn't so much that I ran out of songs, but I told myself not to use more than one song artist or musical/TV show per fanfic. I'm going in to chapter thirty nine, now. And some artists just don't have applicable songs. XD

_111111111111_

_Daylight_

_See the dew on the sunflower_

_And a rose that is fading_

_Roses wither away_

_Like the sunflower_

_I yearn to turn my face to the dawn_

_I am waiting for the day.._

_Burnt out ends of smokey days_

_The stale, cold smell of morning_

_The street lamp dies_

_Another night is over_

_Another day is dawning.._

-- 'Memory', CATS (Musical)

**Souvenir: Chapter Thirty-Nine**

_111111111111_

This couldn't be how it all ended. This simply wasn't possible.

It all seemed to have happened so fast. A whirlwind of chaos and uncertainty; he could still remember what he had wanted to do, that day, as if he had stepped out of it only moments before. He had been walking in the hallways of the ship on the way to an afternoon cube, chatting amiably with his friends, when it all came tumbling down.

He had never seen a firefight before. The only time he had ever witnessed a Decepticon attack had been in fiction, displayed proudly on holographic screens for cheering audiences and applauding families. He had always thought that a space-bound fight filled with explosions and laser fire would be exciting sort of danger; had dreamed about it, in fact, with joy and fantastic illusions about personal heroism and swooning femmes.

The reality had not been exciting at all. It had been absolutely terrifying.

He could still remember the screams. He could still see one of his coworkers -- only a little older than he was and had only worked with the company for a few stellar cycles -- taking the tail end of a blast meant for the ship. He would have offlined with him in the explosion, shattering in to a thousand fractured pieces of scrap metal with a final, dying scream if Springer hadn't been there to grab him out of the way.

In the stories, the good guys had always won. They had always been able to rescue those in distress. There had always been a happy ending.

There was nothing happy about this. Where were the heroes the films had always promised? Where was the Elite Guard? Where had they been when their ship -- a delivery ship, they hadn't even been transporting anything important, really -- came under attack?

Where was everyone?

Why was this happening?

_111111111111_

Something was wrong.

Cliffjumper knew that much from the silence. The questions and concerns that had been bombarding him these past few days had run down their course, it seemed; still, the lack of queries and the subsequent quiet was disturbing.

Furao, after all, appeared to be the chatterbox type; at least, he may have been before this all began.

The notion that his new cellmates' lack of speech may have been attributed to simple shock or perhaps quiet musing came to a halt as he glanced at the bright yellow mech. The expression on a pale faceplate -- blanched, even, now that he really noticed it -- spoke of quite a few things. Horror and fear were to be expected in this place and their existence did not surprise him; it had taken him weeks to get past those very same emotions himself. However, the way the young bots' faceplate distorted and scrunched up foretold of an impending meltdown.

"Furao..?" The secretary-turned-slave sat up on the chair with a concerned frown. He nearly asked what was wrong; the words sounded foolish even in his own processor. So, he decided not to add a question at all.

At first, silence was all that responded; his fellow minibot didn't so much as glance up at the call. Instead, blue optics focused on nothing, staring at some undefined point between the top of the chaise and the floor.

Cliffjumper began to worry. However, before he could holler again, a nearly inaudible whimper escaped the nearby youth.

"Are they all the same like us..?"

The phrasing was odd; the growing worry was now accompanied by confusion. The red minibot simply did not understand the question. "What?"

Slowly, Furao looked up. "The others. My friends.. My co-workers, the other guys on the ship.. Are they also like us? Sp.. Spark slaves, too?"

Oh; now, he understood. Cliffjumper winced; his gaze turned sad as he stared at the young bot. "Yeah. I'm.. I'm sorry, kid, but.. Yeah, they probably all are, by now." Or offline, but he didn't give voice to that thought.

A light tremble began to form along yellow limbs. "And.. And I.. I remember the 'cons took all the femmes someplace. Do.. Do you know where they went..?"

There was very little to justify lying now; Furao deserved to know what was happening here, no matter how much innocence would be lost. If he didn't tell him here, Cliffjumper feared, he would find out in an even worse way at a later time. "There's a place called.." A deep breath. "The 'cons call it the breeding sector."

"The.." A sputter; then, a sob.

It appeared that the reality of the situation was finally hitting home within the young bots' processor. The trembling increased until Furao quaked; he appeared barely able to stand under his own power. After several seconds, he collapsed on to the chaise a bare few mechanometers away from his cellmate. A steady stream of unintelligible sobs began to bubble out.

It had only been two days. It must have seemed to be the two worst days of the young bots' life, Cliffjumper mused; two long solar cycles since his entire world had ended, crumbling beneath savage claws and a wicked red optic.

"..Kid.." Cliffjumper sighed; he could still recall his own journey in to this madness. He doubted he would ever forget his time learning about this living embodiment of the Pit. The former secretary made a small jump off of the chair and took the few short steps to his new friend.

As soon as he was close, a shaking yellow frame leapt at him with a sudden lurch. This time, there was no surprise at the hug. The desperate need for comfort was obvious; Cliffjumper did not blame him for that. Gently, he returned the embrace.

With some surprise, Cliffjumper had to admit to himself that the gentle touch felt entirely too good. Possibly better than they should have. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched him in any way that didn't result in pain or humiliation; it had been months since he had received so much as a simple hold, touch or anything akin to the hug he took part in now.

Despite the obvious distress by the weeping mech in his arms, it was nice to be held by someone that didn't want to tear apart his spark casing and ravage what lay inside of it. The gentle, if mournful hold on his frame were leaps and bounds away from wicked claws and the frequent molestation.

Cliffjumper wondered if it was wrong to enjoy it a little.

The hug, now, was returned with an entirely different sort of need -- a need to simply be held with no expectations of anything more, to be given kindness that wasn't tainted by Shockwaves' brutality.

Meanwhile, Furao wept.

"I.. I'll never see any of them again, will I?" The words started in a hiccup and ended in a wail.

"Maybe in the halls, but.. Otherwise, probably not." There was no reason to sugarcoat the truth; not at this point, at any rate.

For several long minutes, the only sounds that filled their prison were sobs, hiccups and miserable clicks. Each noise seemed to let loose a shattered remnant of Furaos' dying innocence; Cliffjumper could practically feel every little piece shatter and wither away around them.

"I'll never see them again or-or talk to them again or play card games with the guys ever again and I never even got to tell Glyph that I like her, I mean, I really, _really _like her, but.. But now we're.. And all of us.." A loud, spark-wrenching wail of despair.

All that Cliffjumper could think to do was hold Furao and rub a quaking backside; distantly, he could recall his creators performing a similar action when he had been very young. Fuzzy, barely recalled memory files proclaimed it had worked back then.

But then, he had once had his creators to comfort him; he never had to deal with his loved ones being torn away.

"Oh, what the slag are we gonna do..?!" Furao wept. "What are we gonna do..?!"

"We try to hold out." Cliffjumper frowned. "We try to survive and hope we get out. It's.. It's all we _can _do."

Mismatched optics stared at the sobbing yellow frame in his arms; all that the young mech needed was hope. It was all that could keep insanity away, here, with pain surrounding them and waiting by every turn. Hope was essential to survive, and there was only one thing he could think of to bring the near-sparkling some hope.

Even if he didn't believe his own words, he had to say them; Furao deserved something to cling on to. He didn't want him to end up like Windcharger or Fallback.

"The Elite Guard know we're here, kid. I wasn't captured alone, and they rescued the other one."

The shaking lessened ever so slightly. "The.. The Elite Guard r-rescued someone like us..?"

"Two of them." Cliffjumper forced himself to smile, even if Furao wasn't looking at him. The grin, he hoped, would seep in to his words. "An Elite Guard agent named Blurr was with me for a while. But the Elite Guard came for him, and they even got another bot out, too, somehow. They'll.. They'll come back. They will. They're probably even looking for us right now, Furao."

As the speech that was aimed at comfort went on, the yellow frame clinging to his own slowly relaxed; the shivering ebbed with every word that was spoken until the yellow minibot barely trembled at all.

"T.. Thank you, Cliffjumper." A hiccup.

Then, there was silence. The two prisoners simply held each other as the long cycles went on.

Quite a few minutes later, Furaos' quiet voice erupted again. "Can.. Can I call you 'CJ'?"

That had not been what Cliffjumper had expected at all. "What?"

The yellow frame finally disengaged from his own with a sheepish and only slightly saddened grin. "It's shorter to say."

"..Uh.." The former secretary sputtered; he couldn't but feel amused. "..I guess so?"

A delighted grin broke out on a pale yellow faceplate; Furao opened his mouth to say something else, only for a new sound to rend the air. It caused both minibots to stop and whirl in alarm.

The hiss of an opening door.

_111111111111_

_Daylight_

_I must wait for the sunrise_

_I must think of a new life_

_And I mustn't give in.._

_When the dawn comes_

_Tonight will be a memory, too_

_And a new day will begin!_

-- 'Memory', CATS (Musical)


	40. Chapter 40

Author notes: Trying a new way to line break since ffnet keeps eating my old style. I'll fix up the first few dozen chapters one of these days. Sigh.

You are all either going to hate me or love me for where this ends up. ;)

Hehe, I get mentioned on the Transformers Anonymous Kink Meme. I am horribly amused by this.

Aaaaand.. ACTION. O_O

..And a response, while at it!

2ScarletRibbons: Real life hasn't been sane in months. I haven't been bored in half a YEAR, man. ..Time has been going by so fast. x_x

_I I I I I I I I I I I I I_

_Snow falls in September_

_April feels like December_

_Has hope left here forever?_

_Open up our narrow minds_

_Why do we hurt each other?_

_We all bleed the same color!_

_Can't we help one another?_

_Open up our narrow minds_

_Can't you see?_

_It's time for picking up the pieces_

_Before the ground just falls beneath us_

_Open up our narrow minds_

-- 'What Have We Done', The Veer Union

**Souvenir: Chapter Forty**

_I I I I I I I I I I I I I_

Whenever the door slid open, the quiet hiss always managed to send a trill of fear along Cliffjumpers' frame. Even after months of captivity -- or, perhaps, because of it --, the sound never failed to elicit the same surge of terror deep within his spark. He had known, to some extent, that he may even eventually become used to the sound in the same manner he had before his kidnapping; back in that office -- so long ago, it seemed like another lifetime, now --, he had been able to outright ignore the frequent hiss.

However, back in those times, pain was never quite so prevalent; one sound had not meant the other would occur.

It did not help that the door should not have been open at all; somehow, that was all that the former secretary could think as he stared at the only way in and out of their prison. Their one-eyed master should not have been set to return for several hours yet; what could have caused the locked door to open now? Could Shockwave have returned so very early?

For the moment, there appeared to be.. Nothing. The door slid open to reveal empty air. Both he and the yellow mech in his arms stared at the doorway in slight panic, searching and waiting for someone or something to enter in.

However, there was no one there. Nothing happened and they made no attempt to leave; even Furao, in his youth and naivete, must have known the foolishness of an attempted escape.

Still, there was nothing; it was unnerving.

"..Maybe.. Maybe it's a glitch." The young bot in question whimpered. "Not even a drone or anything.."

Cliffjumper gulped; even with the open door causing such high levels of paranoia, there was something that seemed to be off-kilter around them. The cool air appeared to be more stagnant than it had been a few moments before; his processor compared it to the stench of the air when a body was atop his own, the intakes and vents from another frame bringing heat within every expelled breath. A shudder coursed through him at the recollection.

Several seconds later, the door slid shut again.

"..Weird." Furao frowned. "Wonder what --"

The sentence died when the space before them suddenly rippled; a soft flash of color and muted light passed along their vision. It was a strange sight to behold, a view only comparable to scenes seen in films and fantasy.

Then, there were several additional Autobots in the room; four, by a quick count.

The Elite Guard insignia was proudly displayed on most of their chassis.

"It appears that we had the correct room, after all." A tall, sleek blue mech with the strangest yellow optics Cliffjumper had ever seen smiled softly.

"..Hot slag.." Furao gaped. "Hot slag on a _stick_! Oh, Primus, the Elite Guard!" The minibot pulled away from his fellow prisoner to rush towards the small group of bots. "Oh, Primus, oh holy slag, you actually came!"

"You must be Furao." A white and red femme nodded, expression concerned. "We're here to get you boys out."

It took a moment longer, processor numb from shock, for the former secretary to realize that he recognized several of the faceplates staring at them.

"R.. Rodimus Prime.." The red minibot nearly collapsed from the sudden hope and relief swelling within his spark; as it was, he staggered to the group. A myriad of words flew through his mind, desperate to be said to Autobots he had believed he would never see again; very few of them stuck. "..How..?"

"_Primus_..!" The red and gold Prime in question gaped at the minibot before him; he took several rushed steps before kneeling; Rodimus grabbed hold of his wrists, staring first at the discolored hands and then to mismatched optics. Shock and horror warred on his faceplate. "The slagger really put you through the wringer.."

Cliffjumper stared back, optics wide and tone hushed. "You have absolutely no idea."

"I hate to interrupt, Prime, sir, but I would very much like to leave before Shockwave returns." The blue mech with the odd optics shifted in place; he was clearly nervous. Cliffjumper didn't blame him.

"Mirage is right, Roddy." A stout bot Cliffjumper recognized as Brawn only from long-read files began to tie something to the pedes of a stunned Furao. "We gotta move!"

Distantly, Cliffjumper could recall reading their files to compile a report. He could remember, back when things were safe and life was normal, thinking to himself that Rodimus Prime's group would be going places.

This was not one of those places he had envisioned.

"R.. Right." Rodimus sputtered, still visibly horrified by Cliffjumpers' condition. "Hold on a klik!" The same strange objects being attached to his fellow minibot was pulled out of the Prime's subspace; latches and ropes came with them. "Hold still, Cliffjumper, this will only take a cycle..!"

_I I I I I I I I I I I I I_

Cliffjumper had never known a holographic projector could be used for military purposes, before. Of course he had known about the sleek electronic devices -- they were famous for their sheer expensive and entertainment value --, but he had never imagined they could be used in such a way. Perhaps the shock of the Elite Guards' arrival had made his thoughts muddled and faint, but all he could do as he followed his would-be rescuers was stare at the device held by the blue mech.

He had never actually seen one outside of catalogues. It really was an amazing piece of machinery. It was the sort of thing any bot in their right mind would want simply to say they had one; he wondered if the blue bot owned it due to wealth.

"Elevator time." Red Alert grumbled in a very low whisper; the group hung back against the far wall, forcing the shellshocked captives with them.

"What.. What now..?" Furao whimpered just as low; both of his hands clung to one of the femmes' servos.

"We wait for someone to use it." Rodimus frowned. "We've been lucky so far. Cleaning drones keep opening it."

Perhaps it was the fear in the voices around him or the words themselves, but Cliffjumper snapped his attention away from the amazing device to finally take stock of the situation. The shocked haze lifted ever so slightly, enough to notice just how quiet the hallway truly was.

It also allowed him to try to check the time; his chronometer glitched and gave him inaccurate results. Panic slithered along his meta at the realization; he would not be able to tell how close they were to when Shockwave typically returned.

So, he was forced to wait in a terrible sort of ignorance; he barely even noticed that he clung to the blue mechs arm -- what was his name, again? Mirage?

The wait was horrible. Every little twitch from the taller frames around him sent him gazing around in panic. Every miniscule noise made by cleaning drones caused his intakes to stop in absolute fear. A glance at Furao showed that the yellow-painted youth was no different; the former deliverybot had to cover his own mouth with both hands to stop himself from screaming as a cleaning drone strolled by. Once the drone was gone, he was back to holding the femme's arm.

Not ten minutes after they had entered their hiding space, the elevator let out a chime. The golden doors slid open to allow a large, bulky mech to stride out; Lugnut took three large steps away from the doors before Rodimus began to make his way around him.

Thankfully, such a large Decepticon proved to be the least sensitive; the six brushed past without notice.

They waited for the door to slide shut of its' own accord; then the Prime leading them let out a held breath. "Phase three down.."

With that, a shaking servo pressed the button. The elevator music chimed happily above them as the basin made the slow descent.

When the doors slid open again, the seven Autobots hung close as they made their careful exit; no Decepticon appeared to notice that the doors opened seemingly of their own whim. As with the last time, the wall was all but clung to in their escape. The concept of truly leaving began to make itself known; Cliffjumper barely dared to breathe.

A deep frown crossed Rodimus Prime's faceplate as they gazed along the halls; the Decepticons milling about were neither tightly packed nor numerous, but there were still dozens of them standing in the way. Red optics did not gaze in their direction, but the fact that they were there at all was troubling in and of itself.

In a fight, they might have been able to take on the few Decepticons there. Now, if only one set off the alarm, they would be doomed.

Rodimus frowned deeply. Then, they kept on moving, hugging the wall. After a moment, an unhappy, quiet sound came from Brawn's vocalizer.

"Goin' the long way..?" The gruff minibot frowned, whispering low.

"Too many." Was Rodimus's curt response. "Can still get out this way."

Mismatched optics darted about as they moved; as they entered a connecting hall, Cliffjumper could have sworn he caught sight of a familiar purple frame lumbering along. However, it was gone too quickly to be certain.

The red minibot prayed it was a different purple Decepticon. Primus knew there were quite a few of them.

Moving along proved to be a slow undertaking; caution appeared to be their rule of motion as Rodimus led them along. Every step was taken with careful precision, noise muffled by the odd padding strapped to their pedes. Cliffjumper didn't know exactly what they were, but he took a moment to marvel at the brilliant simplicity; he never would have thought to do such a thing on his own.

They entered corridors that he had never seen before; old, dirty places filled with curious, troubling stains along the walls. If he had been here with Shockwave, he likely would have struggled for all he was worth just to escape such a disturbing place. Instead, Cliffjumper held as close as physically possible to the Elite Guardsman, optics darting about for any sign of trouble.

The hallway wasn't completely abandoned; several Decepticons Cliffjumper couldn't readily identify walked along with a nonchalant air. At least, most of them seemed casual; a rather skittish-looking bot gave every stain a disgusted, wary stare as red-eyed friends led him along.

Somehow, Cliffjumper found comfort in the fact that even Decepticons hated this hallway.

Not one set of red optics looked in their direction. Never before had Cliffjumper wanted a holographic projector of his own so badly; the device -- and the Autobots wielding it -- may very well may lead him to freedom.

Once they had exited the dingy halls, the crowd thickened; they could physically see the ships in the hanger from their position, but the number of Decepticons in the way was now even worse than they had been before.

Cliffjumper glanced up to take stock of reactions even as his own throat dried. Rodimus's mouth hardened in to a thin line. Brawn rubbed his faceplate; Mirage openly gaped in visible apprehension. Red Alerts' single normal servo clutched on to one of Furao's own; the young minibots' free hand covered his own mouth with the intent not to scream.

Then, Primus stopped smiling upon their endeavors. Before they could begin the attempt to make their way around the crowd, the worst happened.

The alarms sounded.

_I I I I I I I I I I I I I_

_We've hoped for someone to trust and_

_In the end we pay the price for that_

_We all need to be unbroken_

_Open up our narrow minds_

_Smoke fills the air we're breathing_

_We'll choke until the end, it's nearing_

_Don't we know it isn't clearing?_

_Open up our narrow minds_

_Why are we confused?_

_The warnings are true_

_This world is used_

_And we all need to_

_Open up our narrow minds_

-- 'What Have We Done', The Veer Union


	41. Chapter 41

Author notes: Yeah, another short chapter. Now, I'm just messing with you people. ;)

And also possibly trying to stretch this out a bit more. Bwahaha!

I apologize for this song choice. But I felt it fit. XD;

It seems that, after this is all said and done, I will include an epilogue of sorts. A 'chapter' of stuff that almost made it in to this fic, tossed plot portions, or simply random bits that I felt deserved mention. A background look, I guess. Like the director's commentary on a DVD, but written! XD Hopefully, it'll be fun for you guys.

Respond time, yay!

Monkey Took My Taco: I learned that if I don't have frequent reviews and suggestions, ideas die in my head. So, I have lots of short chapters to keep ideas flowing and commentary feeding me. XD

Smoking Caramels: ... 'So soon'? Well, soon for Furao, maybe, but.. ... Have you SEEN what chapter we're on? We're on number FOURTY ONE. 'So soon'? ... I had Streamline wrapped up at chapter fifteen! XD

_I I I I I I I I I I I_

_My sound, we come to take over_

_M.C., you better look over your shoulder_

_Yeah, you know, yeah, I know_

_Oh, well now_

_(Bom-bom-bom, vra-vra-vra_

_Cause and action!)_

_Nuff ah dem ah come an dem ah try dog we out_

_Born down pill, we are the ruffneck scouts_

_Music, we make to make the crowd jump up_

_Crowd get hyped, explode and erupt!_

_Unity sound killer groove non-stop_

_In ah fe dis pit only the strong will survive_

_Strength and power gonna keep them alive!_

_Nobody gets out of dis shark pit alive!_

_Nobody, nobody gets out alive!_

_Nobody gets out of dis shark pit alive!_

_Nobody, nobody gets out alive!_

-- Skindred, 'Nobody'

**Souvenir: Chapter Forty-One**

_I I I I I I I I I I I_

"High grade?" The cube was held out in offering; it was instantly tantalizing.

"Oh, Primus, yes, please, thank you." Nimble blue and white servos grasped at the cube and pulled it close; almost immediately, it was eagerly being consumed.

A friendly, although somewhat sad laugh responded. "Yeah.. Yeah, I feel th' same way." With that, the orange mech sat on the nearby couch, guzzling a cube of his own.

Half of the offered cube was gone before Blurr stopped drinking. With a deep, miserable sigh, he sat back on the couch in the Elite Guard common room. The place had most likely been built for soldiers that needed to stay in the building yet wanted to relax; likely, no one thought that the room would be used in the dead of night the way it was now.

Both full and empty cubes of high grade littered the tables. Beyond the windows, the city slept in blissful ignorance, unaware of the battle probably being waged so very far away.

"Primus.. I hope they're all right." Hot Shot sat on the back of a thankfully sturdy chair, gazing out at the dim lights of the nearby buildings and streets. "They better be all right."

For the most part, those were the only words said for several hours. However, they had been repeated in multiple voices in that time; everyone in the room had said it at least thrice so far.

"They.. They got out fine the last time." Ironhide frowned, repeating the usual response for the countless time, worry clear as he gazed in to his own cube. "They're good bots. Bet they'll get out clean, just like th' last time."

"They've been gone all day." Trackback hugged the plush drone in his arms; the toy was almost never abandoned or left behind. Blurr wondered what would happen should he ever need to clean the thing. "Were they gone this long the last time?"

Silence for several long seconds.

"..No. No, they weren't." Hot Shot answered, far more morose than usual.

"But they'll come back!" Ironhide insisted, glaring at the pyrotechnician's back. "They _will_!"

No one knew what to say to that. The long hours spent waiting and hoping were finally taking their toll; although the time limit of a single solar cycle gone had yet to be reached, it was far too close to time. It was far longer than it should be.

"Primus.. Hope they're okay.." Ironhide repeated once again.

_I I I I I I I I I I I_

"No..!" The word came in both a strangled whimper and a horrified moan; Furao had released the first, clinging to Red Alert as if she were a savior, the latter from a wide-opticked and horrified Brawn.

For the moment, they all stood still. Indecision, desperation and fear mingled within Cliffjumpers' processor, and he wasn't even leading the small group of hopefuls; if he was this bad, he couldn't even imagine the stress Rodimus must have been feeling.

As the klaxons blared overhead, Decepticons rushed and moved around their so far unmolested hiding space. Tall, crimson-eyed figures sprang in to action; it appeared that the dark masses had learned from the previous escape from all those months ago, scrambling to arm themselves and rushing to guard every doorway and possible escape route. Even a garbage chute was investigated in their search, although a good number rushed to the hanger.

It was, after all, the only real way in and out of the ship.

Now, dozens blocked the way. Even more dashed about in a frenzy, carrying small devices that ran about empty air and scanned the content, green lights flashing at every failure. It appeared that they either suspected or flat out knew how they hid themselves and were taking no chances.

However they had found out their technique, it would not be long until they were discovered.

"No, no, no.." Furao wept as he clung to the medic, trembling all the while. "The ships are right fragging there! They're right there..!"

"They are." Rodimus agreed. "Maybe.. Maybe we can make a mad dash.. Fight our way out, even.."

"They'll shoot us down." Came Brawns' grim reply. "Unless a miracle happens, we're slagged, Roddo."

It did not take a genius to realize that Brawn was right. A few very long seconds ticked by in expectant trepidation. Within Cliffjumpers' processor, the fear gnawing upon his meta began to harden in to a thick resolve; a sudden notion introduced itself to his mind, a plan that was nothing short of insanity. Even he realized it was an irrational idea, born of fear; he also knew that they were desperate.

The former secretary let go of Mirage's hand and stood as tall as he was able. "I can distract them. I bet if I run around, get their attention.. You guys can get past and run for it."

Shocked horror met him; five faceplates stared in identical disbelief.

"Don't you dare." The blue mech standing besides him was first to speak, frowning deeply as he did so. "Don't you dare play the hero."

"Then what do you suggest?" The red minibot snarled up at the wealthy mech. "You know what happens here! If the 'cons get hold of you, your as good as --"

"Prisoner escape!" The yell erupted from the overhead speakers and stripped away any bravado he may have had. The voice was far too easy to recognize; Furao let out another trembling sob as a shudder coursed through Cliffjumpers' frame. "Two prisoners have escaped from the upper level! Find them!"

The six still hidden Autobots exchanged frightened glances. Before the terror could lessen enough to allow further conversation to either strategize or share what may very well be their final moments together, Shockwaves' voice once again slithered overhead.

"Cliffjumper.. Furao.." Both minibots quaked as their names were called. "If you surrender now, I swear that those that had attempted to steal you will be given quick, merciful deactivations."

"..That.. That fraggin'..!" Brawn snarled.

"M..Maybe we.. We oughta take it." Furao wept. "Being offline is a slag of a lot better..!"

"Don't you dare try to be a hero, as well!" Mirage gaped at the young minibot. "Primus, there may still be a chance, yet..!"

"If you see a way out of this that won't have us end up as spark slaves, I'd really like to know." Red Alerts ordinarily calm demeanor had shattered along the way; now, her optics were wide and expression more than a little worried.

"Th-the femmes go to the breeding sector." The words came in a low, nearly inaudible whimper from the minibot clinging to her.

For a moment, they stood in silence.

"..Are you fragging me?" The medic sputtered.

"No, but _they_ will be soon if we don't get out of here!" Brawn had nearly yelled in his growing panic; if it hadn't been for the cacophony caused by the nearby search, they may very well have been alarmed. Instead, several pairs of optics simply glared at the tan minibot.

"I hate to interrupt what would ordinarily have been a very entertaining argument, but we probably should move away from this spot before we are found." The cultured croon in Mirage's voice, although soft-spoken and tinged with fear, immediately grabbed their attention.

Rodimus turned to stare at the upper-class mech, expression since hardened in to a firm determination; a deep intake came from the Prime. "Mirage, can that thing keep us cloaked if we move very fast?"

"Of course, Prime. Assuming we all keep close." Mirage nodded.

"Then we move. Quickly. And stay close. We're about to run from place to place. With any luck, these slaggers don't scan the same place twice."

Without further warning, Rodimus moved. Somehow, the six managed to follow and keep themselves close enough that their disguise remained undisturbed. Red Alert even picked up a shaking Furao in to her arms; the young minibot clung to the medic once again, arms wrapped loosely around her neck as if she were his creator.

It was yet another reminder of how young Furao truly was and how much innocence had been stripped away. Cliffjumper growled to himself as he mused about this; as he ran with his possible rescuers, the terror and desperation again began to shift, this time in to the old, once-familiar fury that he had thought long since gone.

The mad dash was short lived; the group stopped at as Rodimus raised a hand. A silent signal that they somehow knew the meaning of without needing to ask. They hid in the corner of the adjoining hallway, peering down towards their goal.

The red and orange hand motioned to stay. Warily, Rodimus Prime watched the enemy mass hunting for their position; they swam around them, terrifyingly close.

After a long moment, the hand lifted again; then, they bolted anew.

The closer they traversed towards the hanger, the higher their hopes rose within them. However, with every passing cycle, the crowd also thickened; more Decepticons -- several high ranking officers amongst them -- continued to stream in. Blitzwing's mad laughter echoed above them, but, thankfully, Shockwave was not amongst them.

After four safely made runs, luck fled them once again; they were less than thirty steps away from the hanger doors, but far too many bodies blocked their path. At least a dozen heavily armed soldiers stood at attention by the entrance alone, guns gleaming in the fluorescent light.

"..Sir, what do we do..?" Mirage frowned.

"I.. Maybe if we wait, they'll.." Rodimus gulped.

"Oh, frag!" Brawn gasped, staring with wide optics and clear panic to the side.

A Decepticon stood perilously close; too close to be comfortable. In one bulky, three-digit hand lay a scanner. The small device was aimed in their direction, blinking lights already twitching towards the red.

"We're never getting out of here..! Primus, we're never gonna get out..!" Furao continued to cry and clung tighter to Red Alert; the medic hugged him in return, staring at the nearby enemy.

"Well.. Thanks for trying." Cliffjumper sighed, already mourning what may have been. "All of you. Thank you."

"Whatever happens, try to hold out." Rodimus grit his dentals, servos moving towards his bow. "If they get us, try to hold out and stay sane!"

Then, the unexpected happened. It was the type of event so miraculously timed, so incredibly fortunate, that the only comparison Cliffjumper had was within fantasy and fiction.

Instead of rushing towards them with weapons blazing and instead of shouting to alert others of their position, the Decepticon wielding the scanner and who would have sealed their fates was suddenly attacked by the shrieking, furious slave who's chain he still held.

The burgundy and green Decepticon in question appeared to be just as stunned as they were; for several precious seconds, he did not fight back against the revolt. The moment was long enough to apparently rally whatever confidence and hope that the rest of the nearby slaves may have clung to; with a sudden surge and a chorus of cries, the rest of the captives in the hall let out furious screams and followed suit.

A short second later, a chorus of similar shrieks erupted from a nearby hall. Several seconds after that, even those were joined by howls from deeper in the ship.

The Decepticons may have learned from the last rescue, but it appeared the Autobot slaves had, as well.

_I I I I I I I I I I I_

_Sting like a scorpion, buzz like an eel_

_Full force of fist it ago drop plenty!_

_This is what we want_

_And you have got to know_

_If you think you're hot stuff, come and have a go!_

_I saw we come to take over_

_M.C., you better look over your shoulder_

_Bring the raucous, you know we superior_

_Nobody gets out of dis shark pit alive!_

_Nobody, nobody gets out alive!_

_Nobody gets out of dis shark pit alive!_

_Come, follow me_

_One and two and six and seven and forty-three and_

_Nobody gets out of dis shark pit alive!_

_Ah, come, follow me, follow me, follow me_

_Nobody, nobody gets out alive!_

_No son of a bitch has ever come out of dis alive!_

_Nobody, nobody gets out alive!_

-- Skindred, 'Nobody'


	42. Chapter 42

Author notes: I warn you all, I am horrible at fight scenes. I really, really am. In fact, I had a LOT of writers block. I realized I'm more of an emotion writer, so tried to use that to boost this scene along..

But, seriously, I suck at writing fight scenes. I hope I don't completely screw this up for you people. XD;;

I am proud of this song choice. :D

I was seriously tempted to subtitle this 'don't forget your towel'.

RESPONSE TIME YAY

GreyLilliy: Really, it comes back to the 'you're not slaves, you're property!' bit. Shocky is well aware that they're there against his will, but they're _his_, so.. Well, ever heard the line "Get offa mah properteh!" ?

KyuKoneko: Why, yes, I AM doing this on purpose. :]

_I I I I I I I_

_Look, evil spirits are right before you_

_There's nowhere to run, so take them straight on!_

_Someone tells me to erase my worries and fear_

_We reconstruct our minds_

_Clench your fists tight_

_Believe in the bonds between us_

_And fight!_

_So, all I can do_

_And all you can do_

_Is flap your wings and transform_

_Turn the anger piercing your heart in to strength!_

-- 'Transformers EVO.' (translation), JAM Project

**Souvenir: Chapter Fourty-Two**

_I I I I I I I_

Cliffjumper had never been so glad to see such anarchy. Even during those brief moments that he had been witness to the first revolt, it hadn't been nearly this chaotic. The first time, a terrified desperation had marred the faceplates of the resisting Autobots; now, there was a furious, frenzied determination joined by screams that, for once, were not caused by physical pain or torture.

It almost seemed as if the slaves knew exactly what they were doing; it was if they had a solid plan that they were following instead of simple blind hope.

If nothing else, the passion so strongly permeating the air now was an incredible contrast to the apathetic haze normally on display. Cliffjumper never would have thought that it was at all possible; at least, not in so many mechs and not all at the same time.

He was glad for it; the rally of emotion evoked his own to rise up again. He had spent so long simply trying to cope and to survive that he had thought, for a while, that he would not be able to fight back even if he had the opportunity; he had never even considered the idea of being part of such a revolution. He hadn't thought such a rebellion had even been possible.

How had so many that had been so beaten down managed to rise up again? Why had they bothered? They must have known that their captors and masters would bring them nothing but pain for it; he had seen beatings in the hallways for far less.

Bodies were flying everywhere. By some miracle, the Decepticons present were finding it difficult to hold themselves against their captive slaves; chain-link leashes transformed in to whips and gave strength to Autobots weakened from stellar cycles of abuse. It was proving to be remarkably effective against gunfire and the naturally larger enemy.

Frankly, it was a shock that their little party continued to remain hidden in all the chaos; somehow, none of the fast-paced weaponry or those that wielded them came in contact with their camouflage.

"Hot slag." Brawn eventually boggled.

"The.. The Autobots, they're.. They're trying to help us." Mirage managed to sputter, optics wide and wonder-filled with the realization. "They can't have any idea of where in this ship we are, but they're still trying to help us."

"Then let's not waste it!" Rodimus quickly glanced around. "We need to move.. Primus.."

Mismatched optics gazed over the battle with waning hope; there was simply far too much chaos to break through. Still, after a deep intake, the Prime began to dart forward. They followed closely, of course, sticking as close to his back as possible; several very long seconds of movement had them ducking in and out of spare blasts and narrowly missing a bulky mech slamming in to the wall behind them. None of them dared to glance back to see if the large bot was friend or foe.

Cliffjumper truthfully didn't want to know; if it had been a Decepticon, panic may have attacked their sparks yet again. If it had been an Autobot, they may have been compelled to try and help. It was better, really, to try to forge through with some sense of ignorance.

The guards by the hanger door were still there. The three Decepticons were in the process of closing the very large doors; a broken, shattered control panel lay against the wall, letting loose sparks and the occasional loud crackle that was somehow audible over the din of violence. Despite the broken electronics, the trio of red-eyed mechs grabbed and pulled at the sheets of tempered steel, working stubbornly to close the gate despite the brawl going on around them.

Cliffjumper knew that if those doors were brought down, it likely would not be able to be opened again. Still, at the pace that they were going now, it would be minutes yet before they would lose their chance; there was still hope.

"Do we go around or try to take them out?" Brawn looked up at their leader.

"Around. Around is the --" Rodimus began to say, only to stop and glance to the side. "Slag, look out!"

The next thing that the six knew, a collared and chained mass landed atop them; Furao screamed in fright and Cliffjumper nearly joined him. Thankfully, the possibly once-white Autobot wasn't particularly large; Mirage caught him easily despite his sudden arrival. Surprisingly, their disguise still held up; it rippled faintly as the energon-coated body flew in, but otherwise remained unchanged.

However, the Decepticon that had thrown the bleeding mech had watched it all; the suddenly vanishing slave was not missed. A finger gestured in their direction. "There they are! The escapees!"

"Frag!" Cliffjumper swore. They had been impossibly close; if they were caught now and thrown back in to torment, he had strong doubts that his sanity would survive the journey. The very idea of those horrible claws holding on to him again resulted in a terrible shudder coursing along his frame; they were so _close_! "What do we --"

"Here!" Brawn snarled; he pulled a pair of standard blasters from a subspace pocket and shoved one in to the red minibots' discolored servos. The other was handed to a shaking Furao still clutched within Red Alerts' arms.

"Looks like we're fighting our way out!" Rodimus growled, lifting his bow and glancing to Mirage.

Without another word, the wealthy blue mech pressed a single button; as the disguise finally dropped, Mirage shuddered and winced. Cliffjumper didn't blame him; he was frightened, as well. Although, he would never have admitted it.

Then, the battle was joined. Ironically, their lack of disguise actually managed to tip the fight in their favor; as soon as they were visible to the surrounding horde, multiple sets of red optics focused upon them. The slaves still fighting back against their oppressors took the distraction to their advantage; several Decepticons fell to the ground, pummeled beneath fists, pedes and chains alike.

"Move!" Rodimus yelled. This time, the five at his side were not the only ones that heeded the order; as the Prime fired brightly colored arrows against two of the Decepticons at the door, the third was taken down by no less than three different sets of chains from different directions.

It was a mess; for a moment, Cliffjumper simply couldn't tell who was who in the swirling mass of moving metal and splashes of pink. Ally and enemy blurred; the only ones he could positively identify in the chaos were those that were at his side, still holding close despite their lack of disguise. The gun in his hand was fired, but only when he could clearly see the red optics and purple sigils looming in the distance.

"Come on, our only shot at this --" The Prime began to say; he was interrupted by a brand new chorus of screams.

Although the yells and shrieks had been filling the halls for quite some time, now -- and had even been halting and renewing itself, echoed by similar cries through the vents and the halls itself -- the new sound that crossed the air now were entirely different from what had since been going on. The voices, this time, were far different from the rest of the Decepticon and Autobot vocalizers that surrounded them; these yells were of a much higher pitch. The type of voice that Cliffjumper hadn't heard in several very long months. Red and blue optics alike turned in the direction of the new voices.

"How the _frag _did they get out?" Someone -- likely a Decepticon -- growled.

The red minibot openly gaped. For a moment, he debated with himself if he was possibly glitching or hallucinating; the chances that what he was seeing were true were practically incalculable in their impossibility. He had never even thought that such a thing could be possible.

Of course, he hadn't thought that any of this would have been possible, either; barely a few hours before, he had been convinced he would spend the rest of his life trapped on the Decepticon flagship.

A new group of petite, sleek Autobots began to stream in from the main hallway; the same route that they had decided against due to the enemy numbers. Where they had managed to find weapons to fight with -- crude metal poles, guns and blasters of all types, and several blades of clear Decepticon design -- were wielded well. Although even Cliffjumper was able to tell that none were experts or even proficient in a battle, they were still fighting; they were still trying.

"The femmes..!" Furao gaped. "I thought..!"

"Doesn't matter!" Brawn interrupted, although the tan minibot appeared to be just as surprised. A step was taken away from the hanger doors only to lift an unconscious brown and red Decepticon in to the air; the stasis-locked frame was promptly thrown, smacking in to several of his brethren. The group fell all at once, yelping and grunting in surprise.

The escaped femmes took no chances; gleaming laser fire rained down on the fallen Decepticons. Even from the distance that they were at, Cliffjumper could see at least one helm exploding in a violent outburst of circuitry and energon.

It was with some surprise that Cliffjumper noticed how very few shots were firing on the femmes in return; servos moved to grab them, but the Decepticons almost appeared to be afraid to harm them. Perhaps they were; he wondered how many of them were carrying Decepticon sparklings.

Only then did the former secretary notice a stout, green body amongst the rest; shock flared anew as he recognized the femme. He had, on occasion, looked to her picture in that dreadful closet, if only to remind himself that he had not been alone. Her static faceplate on that picture had been a comfort in those dark, depressing hours.

"_Carerra!_" Cliffjumper yelled out as loud as he could.

Somehow, she heard. Startled blue optics looked up; her hands clutched the stolen rifle tighter.

"You know her?" Rodimus sputtered, even as he fired yet again.

"Later!" They likely did not have time for an extended explanation; Cliffjumper could only hope that there would be a later.

"You're alive!" The green femme gasped as she ran towards them, forced to leap over several fallen bodies along the way; Carerra winced as she moved, one servo occasionally clutching her chest plate. Then, she noticed who accompanied her fellow minibot; cerulean optics widened further. "..The Elite Guard.."

"Talk later, move now!" Red Alert shouted. One arm was still wrapped around Furao's frame; the other shot thin, clean blasts from a medical prosthesis. "Come _on_, bots! _Move_!"

How they had even gotten this far, Cliffjumper boggled at even as they ran. It was nothing short of incredible; as their fleeing numbers ran through the half shuttered hanger doors and flooded the shielded landing pad, he allowed the hope to finally reach its' peak. They may actually escape all of this; there was a chance.

The hope died once the cloak over their ship rippled away.

Rodimus Prime's group had only intended to rescue one or two; the craft was simply far too small for the number of hopeful escapees behind them.

"Rodimus --" Cliffjumper sputtered, staring at the ship as they ran towards it.

"We can fit a couple dozen in there if we pack tight!" The Prime insisted. "It's going to be crowded, though!"

Mismatched optics glanced back at the numbers following them; there were far more than the estimated number behind them. He gulped at the truth behind the Primes' words; quite a few would have to be left behind. They simply couldn't rescue every single one of them there.

He hoped the panic wouldn't cause them to fight amongst themselves; it was the last thing that they needed.

"After them! Get them, get them!" The intercom blared; gratefully, it was not Shockwave. "Don't let them escape!"

There was a flash of light before the nearby hum of an engine roared to life; it was soon multiplied. Several of the Decepticon ships were already priming to take off in chase. Cliffjumper could only pray that the smaller vessel had a shorter warm-up time.

"Fit as many in as you can! Don't worry about weight!" Rodimus flung the door open; as soon as it was, panic-stricken mechs and femmes were swarming in. "All of you, in! That means you, Cliffjumper, Furao!"

"Are you insane! You think I'm just going to..!" Cliffjumper glared up at the Prime; at the return stare -- frightened, yet firm -- he balked. "..Primus..!"

With that, he climbed inside and huddled in the back of the very small ship.

Around him, whispers and whimpers began to rise within the quickly filling cabin. Scarred and beaten mechs and femmes began to pray; he could hear them, as close as they were, despite their hushed tones and whispering.

"Please don't let them shoot us down, please don't let them shoot us down.." That came from a huddled, shaking Furao; the yellow minibot hugged his own knees and clenched his optics shut as he prayed. Already, the small bot was being pressed against the wall by the growing mass around them.

Silently, Cliffjumper joined him.

_I I I I I I I_

_Listen closely! It's a new beginning_

_Why do you think this age is testing us?_

_Power is awakened in an unknown area_

_Unleash the light, aim for the ultimate level!_

_We will all clear a series of trials_

_And overcome what we are now_

_Forward down the path of distress!_

_Believe in the infinite evolution_

_And fight!_

_So, all I can do_

_And all you can do_

_Is take off and transform!_

_Turn all the scars left on your body in to marks of pride!_

_Now, all I can do_

_And all you can do_

_Is battle on and transform!_

_Down the road of evolution_

_Get and go!_

_(Defeat Decepticon)_

-- 'Transformers EVO' (translation), JAM Project


	43. Chapter 43

Author notes: We're getting closer and closer to the finale, boys and girls. ;) Hope you enjoyed this ride as much as I have. There's still a couple of chapters yet to go, though!

Response time, woo!

Lily Avalon: I learned from previous fanfiction writing. This one will have a more-or-less conclusive ending; nothing that would require a sequel, IMO. ... Possibly a prequel, tho.

GreyLilliy: Your review made me laugh so much. XD It made my week, no, my MONTH. Your brain is awesome.

Zarak342: I actually thought about taking a Decepticon ship, but it wound up being too complicated. XD I hope this is still good, though!

_I I I I I I I I I_

_Many nights, we've prayed_

_With no proof anyone could hear_

_In our hearts a hopeful song_

_We barely understood_

_Now we are not afraid_

_Although we know there's much to fear_

_We were moving mountains_

_Long before we knew we could_

_There can be miracles when you believe_

_Though hope is frail_

_It's hard to kill_

-- 'When You Believe', The Prince of Egypt (soundtrack)

**Souvenir: Chapter Forty-Three**

_I I I I I I I I I_

The minutes seemed like hours.

Cliffjumper simply knew that not too much time could have passed; after all, they would all either have been offlined or recaptured if everything was truly taking as long as it appeared to be. Every single second dragged on within the chaos of encroaching bodies and panicked cries; every passing moment had been coated with mind-numbing panic.

Despite a processor made hyperactive from a combination of intense fear and growing hope, he wasn't able to distinguish one body from the next. The colors and models leaked and blended together, creating an undecipherable wall of mass around him. There was a time, not too long ago, that he would have been angry at himself for not being able to recall detail; now, he was glad for it, happy not to know exactly who made it aboard and who hadn't. Although, he had the distinct feeling that he would later be able to recall the exact cycle that the incoming mechs and femmes became so close that they had no hope to sit down for their journey; there simply wasn't enough room.

"Get up, get up!" Came the panic-stricken voice of Carerra; it seems he hadn't been the only one to realize it. He had missed exactly how she had managed to make her way through the pandemonium to get to their side, but he decided not to question it now. He was simply glad she was there.

"What?" Furao sputtered even as the green femme grabbed at his arm to lift him up.

"There's too many in here! We're going to get trampled if we don't make room!"

"What?" The young minibot yelped, intakes heaving. "Primus..!"

Around them, Cliffjumper could see several others who had overheard quickly getting to their pedes as well; none of them dared to protest against being forced to stand. At least, not when Autobots were rushing in, pushing each other aside and threatening to stampede. Each and every one of them wanted to be aboard that vessel; a ship now threatening to be far too small.

Luckily -- or perhaps not so, he wasn't certain --, a window lay right at his side. He was almost crushed against it, the side of his frame pushed against glass; still, he was able to gaze out of the window, taking in the view of a frantic firefight. Rodimus's team held off the incoming Decepticons surprisingly well, considering their number, but they were simply far too few against far too many. Several slaves were pulled back by their captors; some were barely a dozen mechanometers away from the ship before they were grabbed back with either altered weaponry or an actual servo.

The expression on those faceplates -- the crushed hopes, the withering sparks -- evoked a deep pain in his own meta. He could have easily been any one of those recaptured bots, held back in to torment and despair. He wondered if any of them would ever be able to escape after this lost chance.

He had known that there was absolutely no way they were going to be able to save every one of them; as it stood, hundreds were being left behind, lost to deeper sections of the flagship. Dozens upon dozens of the lost and almost forgotten; he hoped the Elite Guard would come back for them the same they had for him.

Everyone was screaming. There were cries of dismay, screams of pain, and simply shrieks of panic; they chorused around him, words made indecipherable by the sheer number of cries. Too many people called too many things; the only ones the former secretary could make sense of were those standing right by his side. However, almost none of them spoke; they simply stared with nearly identical expressions, optics wide and shocked. Very few nearby dared to utter noise.

"Oh, Primus, please don't let us die here, please don't let us die here.." A mech Cliffjumper couldn't identify -- had never seen him before, in fact -- clutched his optics shut and prayed. Odds were, every single one of them there were thinking similar words. At least, those that had already found their places long enough to think at all; some climbed atop the few immobile seats as others clung to the metal below them while yet more managed to crawl in to the overhead baggage shelves. Desperation, it appeared, had mounted to the point that every single inch was a potential safety zone.

It was frightening; despite everything that had happened these past long months, the surreal daze he had been stuck in allowed enough chaos to pass through to truly allow fear. Far too many things could go wrong yet.

There came a shout from outside; the words were lost, but he could see Rodimus falling back and running around the side of the ship.

A short moment later, the floor beneath them gave a soft rumble; several cried out in alarm at the strange feeling. It took a moment for even Cliffjumper to realize that the strange vibration was the engine warming up. Briefly, joy flared.

The joy fled at the sound of a loud clap; however, it only ended up being the door to their small craft slamming shut and muffling the noise from outside. Through the window, mismatched optics took in the fact that the slaves still trying to escape were now nowhere near them; some ran towards them, but they were simply too far away with far too many Decepticons in the way to get there in time.

"Come on, move, move, move!" Brawn yelled from deeper in the ship. Only then did Cliffjumper realize that the entire front of the craft -- the pilot's chair, the frontmost passenger seat, and the glass divider that would have separated the two portions of the craft had it not been pulled back -- were occupied solely by Rodimus and his crew. When they had even settled in to their stations, he couldn't say; details were becoming harder and harder to grasp in the thick, heavy atmosphere of so many intakes heaving so close.

Thankfully, earlier hope proved to be correct; the small craft took off with a sudden jolt -- and several cries as some fell in to their fellow bots from the force -- before the larger Decepticon ships were able.

Cliffjumper glanced around before looking back out the window; gleaming blaster fire followed them. The beams were far too large to be fired by normal guns; a glancing blow jostled their craft and evoked several screams. The possibility of a direct blow terrified him; without truly realizing it, discolored servos grabbed on to a nearby arm.

At that moment, he had never been so glad for gravity centers; the old fashioned ships would have sent them all tumbling helm over pedes instead of simply being lightly roughhoused. Despite the fear, hope grew at a realization; their ship had actually left the hanger. Stars glittered outside the window. He almost smiled.

The joy died after a few seconds; stars shone, but so did the glittering metal of pursuing crafts.

"Can't we go any faster?" Brawn yelled, no lack of fear in his tone.

"We're going as fast as we can!" Rodimus shouted back. "There's too many bots on this ship to push it any faster!"

"We just need to hold out for thirty nanokliks more..!" Mirage managed to gasp above the quieting din of noise.

The stacked, panic-filled mass were hushing; prayers were spoken in whispers, but it appeared most were simply too frightened to speak. Cliffjumper, at least, knew that he wouldn't have been able to even if he knew what to say; his own fears had long since choked him.

He was far too afraid of cursing their escape; simply mentioning that they may make it to freedom could rob them of much needed luck. He didn't want to jinx them.

Even with the limited view that the window provided, Cliffjumper could see the incoming crafts. Decepticon ships more than thrice their size began to emerge from the hanger behind them.

He wasn't the only one that noticed it.

"Holy frag..!" Furao whimpered. "They're coming, they're coming!"

"Fifteen nanokliks!" Red Alert yelled. "Hang on, everyone!"

"..Fifteen nanokliks until what?" Carerra gulped, optics wide with frightened confusion.

"I.. I don't know.." Cliffjumper could only shrug, knowing he held the same expression.

A strong light flashed by the window before the entire craft gave a sickening lurch; they had been hit. A startled yelp came from the front of the ship.

"No..! We're too close!" Someone wailed.

"I don't want to go back!" Another choked out.

"They're gonna get us again!" A deep sob accompanied the words.

"No, they won't!" The tone held in Rodimus's voice is what caught his attention; he actually sounded happy. "Hold on!"

"Three.. Two.." Red Alert counted. "..One!"

The space outside the window gave an odd ripple; then, the craft sharply changed direction. They couldn't feel it, of course, with the gravity centers in place, but the stars outside blurred and shifted sharply enough to gave sign in to what had happened.

At the new angle, Cliffjumper -- along with anyone else by the window, he assumed -- could clearly see the Decepticon vessels firing on empty space; they didn't so much as turn to chase them.

The Decepticons, it appeared, could no longer see them.

Then, he understood; a smile finally began to form.. "A cloak. We're.. We're cloaked. They can't see us.."

"Can they still scan for us?" Carerra gasped; her reflection stared back. "Our energy signatures..!"

No one answered the question. The entire craft quieted; perhaps they were all too frightened to speak with this new turn of events.

Outside, the enemy swarmed; they were obviously searching, firing at random intervals and hitting nothing but dead space. Even as they branched out away from the flagship, they grew increasingly distant from their position.

As they watched, their once-torturers became further and further away. The flashing blasts soon became indistinguishable from the stars glittering around them.

Not too long after that, the smaller enemy crafts became hidden as well. The flagship continued to loom in the distance, but it shrunk with the growing space between them.

For a very long time, nothing happened.

It was nearly an hour before anyone made a sound.

"Did.. Did we lose them?" A soft spoken query; Cliffjumper couldn't even tell who had said it.

Once again, there was silence.

"..I think.." Furao gasped after a long few cycles. "..I think.. Maybe we really did..!"

A loud buzz suddenly rent the air; quite a few jumped and yelped at the unexpected noise. It came from the front of the ship, loud and harsh in the silence. It even sounded strangely familiar, but Cliffjumper couldn't quite place it.

Then, a garbled, static-lined voice sounded off. "Autobot vessel, this is Autotrooper 4719. Please make a pathway towards the space bridge five hics from your current position. You've been approved for landing at Cybertron General Spaceport. Welcome home."

Stunned silence responded to the announcement. After a few seconds, sound erupted all at once; near hysterical laughter bubbled out of a few vocalizers even as others wept in nothing less than pure joy. Mechs and femmes alike yelled in delight; some of them embraced each other, hugging as they shook.

Cliffjumper wound up doing none of these things. For a long moment, he simply stood there, leaning against the window with shocked, wide optics.

"Cliffjumper?" Furao positively beamed at him. "Cliffjumper, we --.. Cliffjumper?"

Then, the former secretary fainted, collapsing in to the arms of his startled friend.

_I I I I I I I I I_

_In this time of fear_

_When prayer so often proved in vain_

_Hope seemed like the summer birds_

_Too swiftly flown away_

_Yet, now I'm standing here_

_With hearts so full, I can't explain_

_Seeking faith and speaking words_

_I never thought I'd say_

_There can be miracles when you believe_

_Though hope is frail_

_It's hard to kill_

-- 'When You Believe', The Prince of Egypt (soundtrack)


	44. Chapter 44

Author notes: Hi, guys! Wow. By this time next week, Souvenir should be finished and done with. ... Wow. This feels.. Weird. Very, very weird.

I got a LOT of reviews last chapter. o_O Woah.

There will be lots of d'awww next chapter. Yes. Yes, there will. :D

_I I I I I I I I I I I I_

_When he said, "Come in,"_

_With that sickening grin_

_How could I know what was in store?_

_Once his teeth were bared, though_

_I really got scared_

_Well, excited and scared_

_But he drew me close_

_And he swallowed me down_

_Down a dark slimy path_

_Where lie secrets that I never want to know_

_And when everything familiar_

_Seemed to disappear forever_

_At the end of the path -_

- 'I Know Things Now', Into the Woods (musical)

**Souvenir: Chapter Forty-Four**

_I I I I I I I I I I I I_

Cliffjumper woke to the feel of a berth beneath him and hands on his frame.

With recollection just out of reach, panic was the first thing to flare within the minibots' processor. There were only two reasons why he would rouse from recharge to servos instead of talons; he was either with Wire Tap again, or Shockwave was in one of his moods.

It didn't particularly matter which of two it was, although he couldn't remember misbehaving to the point of being sold again; both scenarios led to particularly horrid nights. At least, more dreadful then the ordinary, depressing reality that had become his life; not to mention the subsequent visit to Scalpel that would arise from doubtless injuries.

Optics lit up, but vision only revealed a flying mix of shapes and colors that blended with the way his gaze darted about; confusion began to form when he realized that there were more than one set of hands on him. The panic held firm; something new could have happened, perhaps something even more terrible than anything else that had happened thus far. He didn't know, yet; fear had long since become a default setting for these kind of things.

"Cliffjumper!" Someone unfamiliar called; that certainly ruled out Wire Tap. He doubted that the ebony Decepticon had ever bothered to learn his designation. "Cliffjumper, calm down, you're safe!"

"Should we get restraints..?" Another voice came, much more timid than the first.

"No. All things considered, we should have anticipated this to begin with." A sigh. "Cliffjumper!"

With the voice calling with such a surprising patience - even polite, now that he noticed -, he stopped trying to look around and focused instead on who was in front of him.

He wasn't incorrect in earlier assessment; he was on a berth. One that either hovered or was stationed on wheels, but judging by the multiple mechs walking around him without ever moving away, the berth was certainly moving. The three mechs - all with concerned blue optics and marked with large, red symbols - looked down at him from the mobile bedside.

It took a moment longer to remember what had happened.

At first, his mouth opened and closed in the attempt to form words; nothing came out, strangled by a dumbfounded shock.

"It's okay, Cliffjumper." The closest of the three - sporting a medic badge painted on both arms - smiled. "We're taking you in to some minor surgery. You'll be sedated and won't wake up again for a while yet, but we'll set you up with a new optic and servos. All right?"

Cliffjumper sputtered for several seconds. "I.. What? Where am I?"

The medic smiled pleasantly; it appeared strange. Perhaps he simply hadn't seen that expression in too long. "West Iacon Repair Facility."

Mismatched optics widened. "Iacon..?"

"Yup." The medic grinned and patted his shoulder. "You're back on Cybertron." Then, he glanced back to the two others still walking with them. "I want his optic fixed first. The longer that has to calibrate with his systems properly, the better. We don't know what else might've been done, so I want a full scan. Then, we'll deal with his servos -"

"W-Wait..!" Cliffjumper tried to sit up; two sets of hands forced him back down, although both were gentle. "These servos.. They belonged to another bot. Don't just throw them out..!"

One of the medics winced in clear disgust. The one obviously in charge let out a growl. "Figured as much. Slaggin' 'Cons.." He shook his head. "Don't worry. We won't throw them out. We'll find out who they belonged to.."

"Hubcap." The former secretary relaxed in to the berth, happy with the knowledge that the limbs wouldn't simply be discarded. "His name was Hubcap."

The lead medic nodded twice. "All right. We'll let the Elite Guard know." A hand moved around to the side of his helm. "I'm going to disconnect you from your main pathways before sedating you, all right? You'll wake up again in a megacycle or two."

Cliffjumper shifted nervously; still, he had to admit it was leaps and bounds away from Scalpel's method of surgery. "Okay.. Fine by me."

The medic pressed the tips of two fingers against the back of his neck. A panel was pried loose, stinging him with a brief, tolerable pain.

Then, everything went dark.

_I I I I I I I I I I I I_

Waking up the second time wound up being far easier than the first. Instead of returning to consciousness with a sudden, confusing jolt of lost memories and strong panic, recharge faded with a slow, steady hum. A peaceful sort of lethargy that was really rather pleasant and not often experienced.

Cliffjumper couldn't recall the last time that he had awoken to such a nice feeling. The lack of a body atop him - as well as the heavy, hot intakes and gleaming optic that came with it - allowed the former secretary to rouse with as much speed he desired. The chance wasn't wasted; he allowed reality to return to his spark's content, slowly and - dare he think it - lazily.

It took quite a few seconds to realize that the enjoyable hum wasn't coming from his own systems; the noise, in fact, sounded as if it was caused by numerous voices. People too far away or speaking too low to be understood, but enough of them so that their voices blended together to fill the air.

Somewhat curious, the minibot lit his optics online; muddled conversations continued around him, emitting from rows of gurneys stationed against the walls. Every single bed - an odd mix of hover-berths and the old-fashioned sort on wheels - was occupied.

Finally, memory returned; a grin spread itself along Cliffjumpers' faceplate. Barely able to reign in the sudden joy, he gazed around what ended up being a very large and narrow room.

A very large window was stationed at one end and a closed set of glass doors on the other. Both gave sign as to what the room had once been; the hospital appeared to have converted a hall in to a makeshift clinic. Perhaps they simply hadn't expected such a rush of patients; it explained the mix of equipment, at any rate.

Still grinning, he continued to look around; the bots laying on the berths sported various injuries. The vast majority appeared to be burns, cuts and bruises; the worst of it was one mech with a leg wrapped in a strut brace. How he had managed to escape with such an injury was baffling.

Every single injury had been cleaned and dressed; it was that simple fact that spoke of how far they had come.

Although he wasn't able to recognize most of the others that had escaped, he did spot one very familiar faceplate on the other side of the hall; the red and white Elite Guard that he had tried to speak to on so many occasions smiled tiredly from a berth.

A bandaged hand gave a small wave. Stunned, he waved back and gave a small smile; then, he looked around again.

Quite a few of the others weren't in their berths; they stopped by other bedsides for friendly chatter, all sporting broad smiles, or simply stood by the window to peer outside. Several shook as they smiled, hiccuping and weeping in nothing short of sheer joy. Laughter mingled with the cries, but it was a far different sound than what he had heard in the Decepticon ship.

Cliffjumper understood every emotion completely; he was on the edge of them, himself.

"CJ!" A laughing voice at his berthside; Furao suddenly seemed to pop up in his line of sight, delight writ across his frame. "You're up!"

"Hey." Cliffjumper couldn't help but laugh a little as well. "Yeah, I am. How long've I been out?"

"Just a couple of megacycles." The young mech was practically vibrating where he stood. "Can you believe that this is real? We're _home_! We're actually back on Cybertron! You told me, what, two solar cycles ago that this was gonna happen, that the Elite Guard was gonna save our afts, and they _did_!" A laugh. "Why'd I doubt you, mech? Holy slag, this is _amazing_!"

Cliffjumper smirked and sat up on the berth. "How many of us got out?"

"Uh.." Furao blinked at the question.

"Thirty six. Including us." A higher pitched voice came from a few mechanometers away.

The red minibot turned to stare; the joy only climbed. "Carerra!"

The green femme smiled softly and walked the remaining distance. "Good to see you made it out, too." Confusion spread along her faceplate as her gaze shifted to Furao. "Are you Furao?"

"Uh.. Yeah." Was the confused response.

Carerra rolled her optics. "One of the other femmes that got out.. She says her name's Glyph and that she'd really like to talk to -"

Before she could finish the sentence, the young mech darted off towards the cluster of femmes at the far end of the room.

Both of the remaining minibots laughed.

"Thirty six.. Wow." Cliffjumper grinned and shook his head. "That's more than I ever would.. Have.." His voice trailed off as something caught the corner of his vision.

The red minibot turned his head and stared down at the unexpected flash of color; his own servos rested on his leg, almost innocuous save for their shade. He lifted his hands to inspect them, barely daring to believe that what he now witnessed was true.

There was no more yellow paint. Now, his servos sported a pale gray shade. Unpainted and new; never before used. Certainly never refurbished.

No longer the limbs of a dead mech.

For several long seconds, all he could do was stare.

"Cliffjumper.." Carerra's voice came tinged with pity. "Hey.. Hey, look at this.."

Still dumbstruck, he obeyed the order and glanced up.

A small mirror - one of the medical tools affixed to the berth itself - had been moved in to his line of sight. At the reflection that stared back, a processor that had barely begun to reform thought stalled completely.

The disfigured, mixed optics that he had grown used to seeing in the mirror was gone; instead, the red glass had been replaced with a gleaming shade of blue that had never before seemed so beautiful.

"Primus.." Came the eventual gasp.

"Cliffjumper, I'm going back to sit with the other femmes." Carerra's voice tore him away from the mirror; the tone held some sadness. "The medibots were a little miffed that we were moving around so much."

Something about the words sent warning bells through his mind. A deep frown crossed Cliffjumpers' faceplate as he looked to the femme. "Why would.." A sudden thought formed alongside the recollection of where the femmes had been. "Slag, are you..?"

A sigh. "'Fraid so. Eight of us got out of the breeding center and six of us are knocked up." Carerra gave a small shrug; suddenly, she appeared exhausted. "Frankly.. I've been through this so many times that I just don't even care, anymore. I'll let the medics and Elite Guard figure out what to do with it after I.. Have it."

A shocked silence; Cliffjumper didn't know how to respond.

The green femme gave him a small smile. "I'll be fine. I mean.. I'm free. I'm out of there. After this one, I'll.. I'll never have to.." A pause; the smile waned before reforming. "..I'll be with the femmes."

With that, she turned and walked away.

From near the small pocket of berthed femmes, Cliffjumper could see Furao embracing a shaking blue minibot with a similar protoform mold.

Still reeling from the intense mix of happiness, relief and disturbed shock, Cliffjumper simply sat up on his given berth; for what felt like a long time, he simply tried to get his thoughts in order.

He didn't pay attention to the time to know how much of it had passed, but a sudden, muffled shout broke him out of detached reverie.

Outside the glass doors - either locked shut or requiring a passcode, for they didn't open despite nearby frames -, a medic was clearly arguing fiercely with a slender blue mech. The similarly angry blue bot futilely waved an Elite Guard badge and flailed his arms in what may have been comical at any other time; the medic simply pointed at a sign that faced away from the room.

"..Blurr." Cliffjumper sputtered.

_I I I I I I I I I I I I_

_- Was Granny once again!_

_So we wait in the dark_

_Until someone sets us free_

_And we're brought in to the light_

_And we're back at the start.._

_And I know things, now_

_Many valuable things_

_That I hadn't known before!_

_Do not put your faith_

_In a cape and a hood_

_They will not protect you_

_The way that they should_

_And take extra care with strangers_

_Even flowers have their dangers_

_And though scary is exciting_

_Nice is different than good._

_Isn't it nice to know a lot?_

_And a little bit.. Not._

- 'I Know Things Now', Into the Woods (musical)


	45. Chapter 45

Author notes: And this is it. The final wrap-up of a crazy adventure I started eight months ago. Of course, if you guys would vote on my poll, I'll know if that prequel with Shockwaves' first six would be required.. ;)

I hope you all enjoyed this insane trip as much as I have.

There WILL be one follow up; a 'chapter' with all the dropped plot points, various things of note that I think should be said, or random tidbits from this insane near-novel. Got a question? Any question? About anything in this thing? Leave it in a review; next chapter will answer EVERYthing that I may not have been clear about.

*salute* Thanks for the ride, ya'll. ;)

RESPOND TIME. YAY.

Artisan Brown: ..You read this despite not liking the subject matter and STILL enjoyed it? .. Wow. Also, I'm a huge fan of your work. XD

Sandmiller: Sentinel makes a brief appearance here. ;) Hope it's what you expected.

Blackmoondragon: The red and white Elite Guard? Hotspark. ... No, I'm serious. His name is seriously Hotspark. Look him up in the TF wiki. I imagine this name did not work to his advantage as a prisoner.

_I I I I I I I I I I I I I I_

_There is no future, there is no past_

_Thank God this moment's not the last_

_There's only us_

_There's only this_

_Forget regret_

_Or life is yours to miss_

_No other road_

_No other way_

_No day but today_

_I can't control_

_My destiny_

_I trust my soul_

_My only goal_

_Is just to be_

- 'Finale B', RENT (musical)

**Souvenir: Chapter Forty-Five**

_I I I I I I I I I I I I I I_

Cliffjumper had thought that the shock would have abated by now.

Although he hadn't known exactly how he would react to seeing Blurr again, he certainly had given it some thought. The delight at simply being free from the flagship and that the possibility of seeing his dear friend again existed at all had left him not knowing what he was going to do when the time came; he had allowed the joy to overtake all else.

Dimly recalled memories from his youth gave him fiction-filled comparisons. Fragmented clips from the holovids his creators had loved to watch were all he had to go by, filled with the weeping femmes running in to the arms of their loved ones and of heroic sparklings greeting their friends with a laugh and a smile.

None of those films had ever shown a bot simply sitting there with a processor frozen from sheer disbelief.

It truly felt as if it had been forever since he had last seen the blue Elite Guardsman; all he could do now was sit on the hospital berth he had been given, staring at his friend beyond the doors in slack-jawed wonder.

Outside the plexiglass, the mech in question continued to argue with the stubborn medic that blocked his path. Despite a mind adept at taking in detail, lip-reading the pair was outright impossible; Blurr spoke too quickly and the medic had a face guard in place. Only the painfully obvious words spoken in obvious enunciation from the agent could be made out at all.

The doors muffled the noise made by the verbal combatants, but the sheer volume of both voices made it through. A set of whimpers from around him caused Cliffjumper to turn and stare; several of the other escapees appeared frightened, quivering and shrinking in to their own berths. One even hid under the metal and fabric, covering his audio sensors with both hands.

It was a stark reminder of where they had come from; with a gulp, the red minibot slowly looked back to the doors.

He still couldn't tell what was being said, but something from Blurr caused the medic to stop. Above a bold green face guard, blue optics widened in what appeared to be surprise; the much shorter speedster simply glared and folded his arms.

With a cringe, the medic turned and tapped at what was likely a keypad by the door. Before the doors were completely open, a flash of light made its way through the parting metal and glass.

The next thing that Cliffjumper knew, something was pouncing him and hugging him tight.

"Cliffjumper thank Primus thank Primus you made it out finally and you're okay and I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I didn't mean to leave you with the slagger but I didn't know what to do and I'm so sorry I'm so sorry..!"

"Blurr.." Cliffjumper choked. "..Blurr, I'm.. I'm overheating, you're going to have to.. Let go a little..!" He hadn't known the speedster could cling so tightly.

"Oh Primus!" The hold was released immediately; guilt spread along Blurr's faceplate as the smaller mech wheezed.

"I'm okay..!" Cliffjumper took in a deep intake to settle his systems. Then, he looked up at his friends' wide, worried optics; he smiled broadly. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

Blurr tried to smile back; he could tell that much, but the speedster was shaking far too much to make it possible. He appeared ready to start crying at any moment. Shakily, he sat down at the edge of the berth. "I'm so sorry I'm so sorry.."

"..The slag do _you_ have to be sorry for?" Cliffjumper boggled; it took him a few seconds to understand. He rolled his optics with incredulity. "Primus, Blurr, you did what any sane bot would have done! Anyone would have done the same exact thing! You did the right thing to leave when you did!"

The words didn't appear to lessen the guilt; if anything, Blurr only appeared more distraught.

Before the speedster could form a proper response, a joyful voice came from the door. "Cliffjumper! You're okay!"

The minibot turned; the smile reformed. "Trackback!"

For the few moments per day that Cliffjumper had seen the gold and blue mech in the mess hall, he had always sported scars or wounds; a good portion of the time, he had been covered in his own bleeding energon. Now, he gleamed; somehow, the former secretary couldn't help but think that he appeared positively _healthy_.

Trackback rushed in, clutching a square plush in his arms; the toy was set aside - earning a gasp from Blurr - in order to hug the red minibot.

"Thank you." Trackback whispered. "Blurr and the Magnus told me what you did. Thank you."

"..The Magnus?" Cliffjumper blinked as the young mech pulled away from the hug. He looked to Blurr with more than a little curiosity. "Who _is_ the Magnus, anyway?"

_"Where is he!"_ A loud, booming voice echoed down the hall. "Which room is he in? Someone give me info and give it to me _now!_" There came a very short pause. "What do you mean, 'visiting hours'? I'm the slagging _Magnus_! I don't need visiting hours!"

"Speak of the Pit." Blurr sighed.

Cliffjumper opened and closed his mouth several times in deeply baffled confusion. "..No way."

The entire hall had gone silent at the thunderous boom of a voice; even the medics pressed themselves against the walls in the attempt to steer clear of their new Magnus. Perhaps their choice was for the best; the tall, bulky mech that rushed through physically tossed an empty IV stand aside for no discernible reason other than the fact that it was there and in his way.

As soon as Sentinel Magnus strode inside the hall, Cliffjumper gaped, optics wide. "..How the slag did _you_ get to be the Magnus?"

The bulky blue mech in question stood tall, arms folded behind his back. He stopped by Cliffjumpers' berthside and peered down with a haughtiness that bordered on contempt. "I'll have you know that some of us actually _work_ at."

Cliffjumper raised a brow, appearing to all the world as if he were affronted. "Oh, instead of spending all solar cycle at Maccadams like _some_ bots?"

The Magnus glared. "Are you insinuating something?"

The minibot straightened and didn't so much as flinch. "I don't know, _sir_. Are you?"

Then, a very long moment of silence passed. Both Magnus and former secretary glared daggers at each other as the rest of the halls' inhabitants stared in shocked disbelief. However, before any of the various mechs and femmes could form some sort of response or rise up against the cruel words against one of their own, they were again surprised by the actions of the pair.

After a brief moment, both Cliffjumper and Sentinel burst in to loud, boisterous laughter. They laughed long and hard, all but howling as if their argument had been nothing more than a hilarious joke.

"..What just happened?" Blurr sputtered.

"Was.. Was that.. Banter?" Trackback blinked widely, clutching the plush drone once again.

"Slag, Cliffjumper, good to see you made it out of that Pit-hole in one piece!" Sentinel grinned, patting the much smaller bots shoulder with clear affection.

"I actually just got out of repair, so 'one piece' is debatable." Cliffjumper grinned back. "I don't know how you convinced the Council to come back for us, but, frag, am I glad you did."

Surprise crossed the Magnus's faceplate. "What are you talking about? It was _your_ messages that got them off their afts! Slag, half, if not all of the Elite Guard wants to buy you drinks for the stunts you pulled! If it wasn't for you, none of these bots would have gotten out of there at all!"

At first, Cliffjumper stared at the Magnus with stunned optics. Then, feeling a sense of nervousness creep along his processor, he glanced around the room.

As expected, a good number of the recent escapees were staring.

"..What's he talking about?" Furao frowned from the next berth over. "What does he mean, what you did?"

"What, you didn't tell them?" Sentinel boggled; he looked around the room before turning back to the red minibot. "Oh, come on, Cliffjumper! You hacked in to Shockwaves' personal communications system and sent us emails with floor maps and the names of a lot of the bots in there! It would have taken us _centuries _to get anything even close to that! We were going on what _you_ sent us the entire time!"

At that moment, Cliffjumper wished he could shrink in to the berth. In a previous function, he would have loved the attention and even sought it; now, all he wanted was to be left alone with his closest friends to regain what was left of his life.

Instead, the dozens of bots around him were staring in a mix of awe, wonder and a gratitude that he found strangely disturbing.

A pang of guilt began to form; he hadn't sent the emails for any of them. He had been desperate; there was nothing else to it.

"..Holy slag." Furao's hushed voice was the first to break the silence. He held the same gratefulness that everyone else seemed to hold. "Frag, mech.. You saved our lives."

Cliffjumper simply shifted on the berth and was unable to look back.

_I I I I I I I I I I I I I I_

_Epilogue: Some time later_

The months that followed were some of the best that Carerra had ever experienced. Being held in captivity and constantly surrounded by pain had stripped away any sense of content she may have once felt; for the last millennia of her life, she simply existed and nothing else.

Suddenly not being pawed at by eager Decepticons or struck at every turn was en entirely new way of life. Being able to walk around with others without a sense of fear had been nothing short of miraculous. It had taken months to get used to the notion and even now had some trouble with it.

Of course, it wasn't a surprise. They all had trouble; the dozens of them that had escaped had their trials and tribulations. It was a strange comfort to know that they weren't alone in their difficult adjustment; more than a few times, she wound up seeking the others simply to talk to and had her own called in return.

They had become a family. A large, strangely jointed family, but a family nonetheless. Cliffjumper had even opened his apartment for anyone who didn't want to recharge alone or simply wanted to sit down and talk. She thought she would never be able to thank him enough for all that he had done.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Furao looked to her in concern from a short distance away, breaking her from her musings.

"We could stay if you want us to.." Glyph, a short blue minibot femme at his side, frowned with worry. The pair had been inseparable since their escape and reunion; Carerra had begun to suspect that they had bonded not too long after.

"I'll be fine." A forced smile. "I've done this before. I'll be all right."

"If you say so.." Still, the concern didn't leave Furao's faceplate. "Just call us if you need anything, okay?"

Carerra kept up her smile and nodded back. "Sure.."

She waited until they were gone before walking in to West Iacon Repair Facility. It was the first time she's been back there since she had been discharged after her escape.

It didn't take long to find where she needed to go; the signs stationed all over the complex were clear enough. When she did, shuffling quietly through automatic doors, the medic was already there to greet her.

"Right on schedule, I see." Red Alert smiled kindly. "Follow me."

The smile that responded was real, this time; Carerra remembered Red Alert. She would likely never forget seeing her blast against the Decepticons blocking their path or that she had been the one to push her in to the small craft that had rescued her from cruelty.

The berth was waiting; the green minibot let out a soft sigh at the sight of it before climbing atop the cushioned metal.

She had known this day would come. It was bound to, sooner or later.

"Ready when you are, docbot." Carerra smiled sadly.

"It might hurt a great deal, you understand." Red Alert warned.

"I've been through this too many times to count." A deep sigh. "Let's just get it over with."

"If you're sure.." A frown.

Carerra shut down her optics and waited. She heard the slide of something hovering by her berthside; a single blue optic lit halfway to take in the sight of a very small, empty sparkling protoform. Ready to house the spark about to be extracted from her own.

She closed her optics again and waited.

Carerra could truthfully not recall how many sparklings the Decepticons had forced out of her chassis. She could, however, recall the deep, horrible depression she had felt after the first few had been taken away, never to be seen by their creator again. After a while, she had grown numb to the entire process; she had never been allowed to see any one of them or to even know if they had been born a mech or femme. All she had ever heard was their wailing cry as their systems were booted for the very first time.

She doubted there had been a time in the past several hundred stellar cycles that she hadn't been carrying or in the process of being forced to carry; none that she could recall, at any rate.

It didn't even hurt, anymore. Even as Red Alert plunged her servos in to her chassis and deep inside her spark, all she could feel was a faint pain. It must have hurt, once; perhaps long ago. She couldn't remember.

She wondered if she would be bedridden for too long; the family she had become part of were having a celebration that evening. Cliffjumper had been promoted to Prime of the intelligence division; she hoped this poorly timed sparkling wouldn't force her to miss it.

"There we go.." Carerra hadn't been paying attention to the time to know how much had passed before Red Alert had spoken again. "You didn't even make a sound, Carerra. Never had a patient that did that, before."

Carerra only shrugged, indifferent. "I'm used to it."

Red Alert frowned; then, she closed the chest plate over the tiny protoforms' spark chamber. As soon as she did, the newspark let out the typical shriek that always came out.

"Ah-ha!" The medic cooed down at the babe. "Hello there, brand new little mech! Welcome to the functioning world!"

Carerra sighed and closed her optics. All she felt from the experience was a vague sense of exhaustion.

The room was, for the most part, silent; only the waning cries of the sparkling filled the air. It didn't take long for even that to quiet down under the medics' expert touch.

"Would you like to hold him?"

The words came as a shock. Hesitantly, Carerra looked up. "..Hold him?" She had never had that option before; somehow, she had assumed she wouldn't have it this time, either. She hadn't known what to expect, really. "..Okay."

The towel-wrapped protoform - she had never seen a body so small - was carefully placed in her waiting arms. At first, she simply didn't know what to feel, staring down at the first of countless children she had ever been able to see.

A bright white wash covered the small, generic model frame. The cries has quieted, only for the sparkling to shutter his optics and wriggle in what might have been content.

Slowly, a sense of delight crawled along her meta. This was the first child she had ever seen; the first not in Decepticon hands. This was her sparkling; she didn't have to give this one up.

After several long moments, the sparkling lit his optics; the most beautiful shade of blue Carerra had ever seen stared back.

All at once, she fell in love.

"..Oh, Primus.." Her intakes hiccuped as a wide grin formed.

"I take it you won't sign off on adoption papers, then?" Red Alert smirked. "Do you have a sparkling designation in mind? You don't have to give it right away.. Some creators even wait a stellar cycle.. But if you want to give one now, the option is there."

The green femme stared down at the tiny sparkling in her arms; she knew what she wanted to call him almost immediately. "Hubcap. Can I call him Hubcap?"

"Sure." Red Alert grinned. "Little Hubcap it is."

Carerra hiccuped again, unable to look away from the little one in her arms; Hubcap simply dozed.

_I I I I I I I I I I I I I I_

_Without you_

_(There's only now)_

_The hand gropes_

_(There's only here)_

_The ear hears_

_(Give in to love)_

_The pulse beats_

_(Or live in fear)_

_Life goes on_

_(No other path)_

_But I'm gone_

_(No other way)_

_'Cause I'd die_

_Without you_

_No day but today_

_(I'd die without you)_

_No day but today_

_(I'd die without you)_

_No day but today_

- 'Finale B', RENT (musical)

_I I I I I I I I I I I I I I_

Author notes: Remember to review with a question on this if you want it answered. ;) Next chapter WILL have lots of interesting stuff, I assure you. Like a director's cut. Or something. *bows out*


	46. Chapter 46

_Coming out of my cage_

_And I've been doing just fine_

_It started out with a kiss_

_How did it end up like this?_

_It was only a kiss_

_It was only a kiss_

_Now I'm falling asleep_

_And she's calling a cab_

_While he's having a smoke_

_And she's taking a drag_

_Now they're going to bed_

_Now my stomach is sick_

_And it's all in my head_

_But she's touching his chest now_

_He takes off her dress, now_

_"Let me go!"_

_'Cause I just can't look_

_It's killing me_

_And taking control_

- 'Mr. Brightside', The Killers

_I I I I I I I I I I_

*bubble pipe* Hello, people! Author/write/fanfiction drama queen behind Souvenir, here! As mentioned in the final chapter, this is not an additional chapter per se. It's more of a 'behind the scenes' sort of thing. 'Director commentary' sort even with a few deleted scenes. And question responses! Yes! There's something for everyone!

..Unless you wanted plot. Then.. This has nothing for you. I am sorry. *hangs head in shame*

As stated waaay back in chapter one, Souvenir started off as a plain old 'Shockwave kidnaps Blurr instead of crushes him in to a cube' plot line. Since there were plenty of these around, I was content to let my subconscious play with it. Ninety percent of everything was seen in dreams. I think in images; every night is like a brand new TV show all for me. It's absolutely awesome.

But I digress. I was pretty happy letting my brain play with it, as I was still working on Streamline at the time and I didn't want to overwhelm myself. However, I befriended BBPuyo of Deviantart, and talking with her and sharing my insane brain's private showings helped to speed it along.

Some of the basic plot lines came from those dreams. In the first 'drafts', Blurr had been captured alone, there's the usual start of terror, yadda yadda. He eventually fakes Stockholm Syndrome and forces himself to seduce Shockwave in order to convince him to allow him to use the communications console and email systems and ultimately uses that to send a message home and to escape.

Then, one night.. Cliffjumper showed up in the show. To this day, I'm not sure what set that off. Looking back, though, it kind of all worked out as if it was always meant to be that way. Hmm.

Talking to Puyo about this, and she convinced me to write that very first chapter. I wrote it for her. And she loved it. And even drew the first illustration for it.

Puyo is the reason you have Souvenir, folks. Thank her. ;) BBPuyo of Deviantart. Check her scraps for illustrations.

ANYway, now I'm going to go through the chapters in order to set off various notes.

**Chapter Notes:**

Chapter Two: _"I hope there isn't a repeat of the last time."_

When I wrote that particular line in, I had absolutely no idea what the hell Megatron was talking about. My brain has this habit of putting things like that in to stories without telling me why, only for a later dream in my head to explain it and it will all make sense. It's absolutely bizarre.

The 'last time' wound up being Tap-Out's escape attempt that killed a number of Decepticons. At the time, the Original Six hadn't even been conceived yet.

Chapter Four and Trackback:

Trackback is Cheetor from Beast Wars. At least, he started off that way. That's what I saw in my head and I learned long ago not to argue with my subconscious. However, as Cheetor in Beast Wars did not earn his name until after the Axalon crash and this would never have happened in TFA, he did not have a name here. Nor was there any recorded name of what Cheetor would have been called before Beast Wars. 'Dawn of Futures Past' was absolutely no help. So, I named him based on the situation. Which, again, seemed to work out.

Trackback's backstory has changed at least a half dozen times since I wrote him in. One of the early versions involved him as part of a space exploration crew that had been intercepted by Decepticons; likely a nod to his Beast Wars origin.

However, he then became gradually younger and younger with the more I wrote of him. More of a child prisoner and less of a mature adult.

I may yet write a Trackback-centered fic with more, so I will not admit more to this for now.

Chapter Six: _He looked tot he names on the rest of the cards, unwittingly recording them to memory. Hubcap, Volks, Tap-Out, Carerra, Windcharger, Fallback._

Amusingly, all six of Shockwaves' earlier captives were chosen _before_ I knew that most of them had TFA counterparts. I had gone through the TFWiki's page on minibots and chose them from there. Tap-Out was the only one who actually started off as his TFA self.

Carerra and Volks were both based on the South American G1 Cliffjumper repaints. Not three weeks after I wrote them in, I managed to snag a Carerra in the correct color (they came in quite a few colors) on ebay. I like to think of it as a sign. ;)

Three minibots that had almost landed in the roles were Rook, Tailgate and Bumper.

Fallback is, indeed, Australian. He's based on Outback; according to the wiki, Fallback is an older name of his that, frankly, I just liked more.

Chapter Eight: _"Uh.. Had a roommate back on th' farm studyin' this stuff. Helped him out a bit."_

In my universe, Ironhide was studying to be a secretary before he found out he could turn in to a nigh invincible sheet of steel.

Mostly because the concept of secretary Ironhide makes me giggle profusely.

Chapter Nine:

Puyo asked this once, so I may as well say it here. Yes, Cliffjumper stayed awake and ware longer than Blurr had. Cliffjumper had interfaced frequently and far more than the younger mech ever had; prior to his capture, Cliffjumper had enjoyed drunken one-night stands on a regular basis. His spark had simply been used to more activity.

Chapter Ten:

Shockwave is a bit OCD with cleanliness and order. That is all.

Chapter Fourteen:

At this point, I had not decided who the Magnus was. I decided upon Sentinel only after rewatching the 'Autobot Boot Camp' ep and realizing how casual Sentinel was with Cliffjumper.

This is also when the Rodimus Prime in my dreams began to speak with Star Fox's voice. I have absolutely no idea why.

As an extra note, if it wasn't clear by now, Carerra had been in love with Hubcap.

Chapter Fifteen:

**Review Response:**

2ScarletRibbons: _"How did Cliffjumper and Sentinel get to be friends?"_

They met in a bar. They were drinking buddies. They enjoyed complaining about things and complained about them together. Man friends. The sort of friends that would go to a bar together, comment on any femme that caught their eye, and complain about idiots. They were both good friends but mutually disturbed by the concept of taking it further than that.

A line from Sentinel that I had never managed to fit in to the story: "I don't leave my friends behind."

Sentinel is still haunted by the situation with Elita-1/Blackarachnia. Cliffjumper had been a good friend for quite a few years and had been one of the few friends that Sentinel felt hadn't betrayed him in some monumental way; he simply could not bring himself to abandon him.

They had never been lovers, but you don't have to be in love with someone to care deeply about them.

Chapter Twenty-Five:

Now, here's where things get interesting.

**Review Response:**

Smoking Caramels: _"Why did Bee react so intensely?"_

Bumblebee, as far as I see, really hit it off with Blurr. Not in a 'I have a crush'/'I'd tap that' sort of way, but in a 'holy crap, this guy is awesome' sort of way. In my universe, Bumblebee and Blurr were enough alike to really get along, but not so much that their personalities clashed; a good recipe for friendship in any book. They had chatted together for a few hours before the whole space bridge fiasco and formed a friendship.

Bumblebee's fainting spell came along from this thought process: "Shockwave had a _thing_ for minibots? But.. I'm a minibot. And Shockwave was _nice_ to me.. Ooh, dear Primus, he wanted to do _that_?" Crash.

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

**Review Response:**

Anonymous Reviewer: _"What happened to the turbo fox?"_

What is it with you people and that turbofox? My brain's image of it is a Bulbasaur, for some reason.

Anyway, I swear, that turbofox came _this close_ to following Cliffjumper and becoming a pet. The only reason this did not happen was because it didn't fit with the plot as a whole.

But, yes, the turbofox is still in Wire Tap's room. It's his smuggled pet. He actually adores the thing. Wire Tap is simply a very messy and disorganized bot.

The turbofox scene was supposed to be reminiscent of an old-fashioned dungeon prisoner waking up to find a filthy rat in his cell. I believe I failed in this endeavor. XD

Chapter Thirty: _"Once, Spittor got fragged off and tore off both my servos and pedes at the ankles and wrists. Oilslick put them back on the wrong limbs, I think for kicks."_

This was inspired by an actual RP thing that happened in World of Warcraft RP. It was so strange, I had to fit it in as a nod to my other hobby.

Chapter Thirty-Two:

_Yes_, the red-and-white Elite Guard slave is named Hotspark. No, I am not kidding. He exists and that is his actual name. Look him up in the TFWiki. I found him clicking the 'random' button and just had to fit him in.

**Deleted Scene:**

_"Hotspark? How did you get __**that**__ designation?" The fellow rescuee in the berth over boggled at the name._

_ "My boot camp instructor said I had a lot of life and energy. A burning spark ready for anything." A bitter laugh. "I didn't work out in my favor when the 'cons got me, I'll tell ya that."_

Chapter Thirty-Four: _"I rather not delve my thoughts in to __**that**__ blunder again."_

The incident with the femmes in question involves Blitzwing's Random side, two captured Autobot femmes, a week-long search, and an Alice in Wonderland style tea party.

Blitzwing has not been allowed near the femmes since. Icy is fine with this. Hothead is slightly miffed. Random is thoroughly disappointed.

**Deleted scene:**

Once again, Bumper narrowly avoided entering this fic. For a while, my brain showed that he would have been the first minibot Shockwave would have seen in the slave roundup.

Yes, 'first'.

_"Hmm.." Shockwave murmured from above him. Slowly, Cliffjumper looked up; he gulped, a dreadful feeling forming in the pit of his spark at the realization that his master had spotted something in the room. A single gleaming optic was locked squarely on a target; he brought his own line of sight in the same direction in the hopes of finding what the cyclops had seen._

_ It didn't take long to find it. With fear splayed on a blanched faceplate and huddling with the rest, a minibot bearing his exact protoform mold quaked and trembled. This minibot was not altogether different from the norm; a pale, dusty yellow paint job and tendrils of metal indicative of an artist coated the small frame._

_ Another mech within the frightened mass of bodies had spotted them first; a nudge and a whisper brought this information to the small yellow Autobot. A visor optic shot up in alarm, staring directly at Shockwave in clear, naked terror._

_ Then, the minibot noticed Cliffjumper. The captives' gaze flickered between the collared slave and his master, back and forth several times in quick succession. A growing, horrified realization began to dawn on a pale faceplate._

_ Cliffjumper winced in shame; the minibot knew exactly what was going on._

_ There was no warning for what happened next; the small Autobot shot up despite the shackles around his wrists and ankles and lunged at a guarding Decepticon. Stunned, the lumbering brute couldn't react in time to stop the much smaller bot._

_ By the time the guard so much had the chance to turn around, it was too late. The minibot had grabbed the holstered gun, brought it up to his own skull and fired._

_ Screams filled the room as the small body dropped to the floor. A nearby Autobot, now covered in his friends' own fluids, began to wail. "__**Bumper!**__ Bumper, Bumper, why..?"_

_ Cliffjumper could only gape; a part of him was horrified. The rest of him understood._

_ Above him, Shockwave let out a disappointed sigh. "Pity."_

I did not include this scene simply because it was sheer overkill. Too much angst, too much drama, too much sadness. It simply did not feel right to include it.

So, it never was.

Chapter Thirty-Six:

**Deleted Scene:**

Oh, yeah. Another one.

When I first imagined Furao waking up after being so horribly, brutally violated, I had nearly written in that he had been completely broken from the experience. In the original scene in my mind, when Cliffjumper approached the berthside, poor Furao was singing a broken, depressed melody while crying and staring at the ceiling.

Possibly because, in the original draft in my head, Furao had ben a virgin.

_Still, he waited for the door to slide shut before making his way to the berthside._

_ Furao didn't get up. In fact, the yellow minibot continued to whimper and cry. He was still splayed flat on his back from the previous torture, spark exposed and shining brightly._

_ Slowly, marred by weeping clicks and depressed hiccups, a disturbed melody came from the young mechs' vocalizer._

_ "We're damned after all.. Through fortune and flame, we fall.." A sob. "And.. If you can stay.. Then I'll show you the way.. To return from the ashes we crawl.."_

_ It was more than a little disturbing; Cliffjumper gulped, unsure how to react. He feared that sanity had completely left his new cellmate; what, then, if it had? Was the poor mech to suffer in madness?_

_ "We all carry on.. When our brothers in arms are gone.. So.. Raise your glass high.. For tomorrow.. We die.. And return from the ashes you crawl.."_

_ With that, Furao burst in to hard, wracking sobs that shook his frame._

I dropped this scene because it simply did not fit. It became weird and strange in comparison with the rest of the story. Oh well.

I love the song, though. Kudos to whoever recognizes it. ;)

Chapter Forty-One:

Hehe. Writing this, I completely forgot that Red Alert already knew where the femmes go. Oops.

Chapter Forty-Two:

If anyone is wondering, the 'once white' Autobot that had landed on them and revealed their position is Ricochet. Another 'random page' wiki find.

Don't ask how the femmes got out. I have absolutely no idea.

**Deleted Scene:**

There was an entire additional plot point that had been dropped in favor of actually ending this insane trip.

In very early drafts of Souvenir, there had been an idea for Cliffjumper to get caught in his email thing. How? A typo.

He would have miss-typed the email address. The email system would have returned it as 'undeliverable' as our email systems do. Shockwave would have seen it and figured it out.

From there, Shockwave would have taken Cliffjumper to Megatron himself as the 'traitor that we haven't been able to find'.

_"__**This**__ is the reason why our plans have been scrapped?" The Decepticon lord fumed. With Cliffjumper already on the floor, all that Megatron had to do was stalk towards the trembling minibot and press the dangerous end of the feared slag-maker's cannon against the back of a shaking red helm._

_ Cliffjumpr clenched his optics shut; he could actually feel the heat rising against the back of his head. The hum of charging machinery was quick to follow._

_ This as it, then; the end. It was over. He braced himself for the pain and hoped that it would be quick._

_ The seconds ticked by. Slowly, the almost blistering heat began to die down; the hum quieted soon after._

_ "Far too easy." Megatron growled. "It would be too merciful a death for all the trouble this one has caused. No, there is a much better punishment befitting of such crimes."_

_ Cliffjumper quailed._

Since I had never gotten any further with that plot point, I had never decided exactly what would have happened. It would have gone one of two ways, however; Cliffjumper would have either been given to Team Charr for a while - because Cliffjumpers' interference lost them their last slave - or he would have been strapped down to a berth or table somewhere and allowed free access to all Decepticons until Cliffjumper agreed to behave.

I dropped this entire segment of plot for a very simply reason; this story was already dragging on way too long. That, and Cliffjumper wouldn't have survived either scenario.

Better for us all, I suppose. XD

**Review Responses:**

As I can't think of anything else to add, it's the final Souvenir response time!

Wackylazy: I'm afraid that's a tale for another time, if it will even be told at all. I apologize.

Monkey Took My Taco: Oh, certainly. What that story is, yet, I'm not sure. We'll see what plotbunnies grab hold. ;)

Anonymous Reviewer: ..I made a universe?

Peacewish: Well, isn't that what therapy's for? ;)

Grey Liliy: I was tempted to include Cliffjumper emailing Shockwave 'FRAG YOU' in the epilogue, but it didn't fit his character. XD Otherwise, I guess Shockwave never figures it out.

Silver-head Angel: I like to think that they met in a bar. XD As for the servos, they were laid to rest in a monument in lieu of an actual body. Similar to a gravesite. Perhaps Carerra would bring little Hubcap to see it, one day. As for Cliffjumper Prime, why not? It's as long a name as Optimus Prime.

Black Moon Dragon: Ack. I couldn't fit your request in and no scene came to mind, anyway. :/ Sorry. But Trackback may yet get his own fic!

Windwalker: With all of this outcry, Trackback may get his own fic yet! We'll see! XD

Zarack342: ..Thank you for calling tis 'not just some romance story', which I suppose.. Fits.. As I tried to steer AWAY from romance.. ... I'm so confused.

And that is all. *bows out* Thanks for the ride, folks!

Any future questions left in reviews will be responded to directly from this point on. ;) See ya'll the next time 'round!

_I I I I I I I I I I_

_It started off with a kiss_

_How did it end up like this?_

_It was only a kiss_

_It was only a kiss_

- 'Mr. Brightside', The Killers


End file.
